Broken Wings
by Arafel
Summary: Inspired by the murals and statues of angels throughout Nosgoth. What if the seraphim were a separate race...and they had dealings with Raziel?
1. Time out of Mind

> > Broken Wings   

>> 
>> Chapter 1: Time out of Mind   

>> 
>>   

>> 
>> "Welcome to your _destiny_." The old Timestreamer's voice echoed hollowly in the large antechamber, filling the silence with an eerie portent. Fresh from his battle with Kain, Raziel slowly approached the legendary archmage. Flickers of green energy from the wraithen Soul Reaver skittered across the chamber, fitfully illuminating the sign of the infinite on the floor and a darker, hulking mass of machinery beyond. Raziel stared at demi-mortal human, supposedly beheaded by Kain a millennium ago. "What is this?" he snapped. "Even a vampire cannot recover his _head_. What are you?"
>> 
>> Moebius, incredibly alive after all this time - and there was no doubt it was him; Raziel had seen the Timestreamer's statue himself – chuckled dryly. "Just as there was a possibility where Kain deprived my of my life, there existed another where he did not. It was no small feat to change timelines, and I can no longer exist in your frame. So, I brought you to mine, instead."
>> 
>> "To what end?" Raziel's voice was a hiss. "By all the gods, I am _tired_ of being played for a fool, and I will not be your pawn any more than I will be Kain's! Explain yourself, old man, before I finish what Kain had begun!"
>> 
>> Unperturbed, Moebius settled his robes about him before speaking. "Your former master has meddled with the currents of time, having taken my machinery for himself. He has only the most basic notion of how to control time effectively, though –" here Moebius paused, shaking his head ruefully – "Kain learns quickly enough. Too quickly for Nosgoth's good." Idly, Moebius began tracing the symbol of the infinite on the floor with the tip of his staff. "Nothing is predestined, though time flows like a mighty river; it is difficult to turn the future from the most likely path. However, it is possible, given the proper actions at the proper time. With my help, you can thwart Kain's ends, though it will not be an easy task. What say you, reaver-of-souls?"
>> 
>> Moebius watched the undead vampire consider, his human eyes barely able to meet the baneful glow of Raziel's. Raziel circled Moebius slowly, weighing the Timestreamer's words carefully. "What purpose have you in helping me? Altruism, perhaps? I find that hard to believe. You are renowned, Moebius, as a trickster and a cheat." The blazing eyes narrowed. "I have already been betrayed twice. Once by my liege; once by my brothers. I tell you, it will not go well for you if you are the third." The Soul Reaver swung up, menacingly; its shivering tip loomed barely inches from Moebius' throat. "I find little reason to side with you, Moebius, or with anyone else for that matter."
>> 
>> "So indeed, but without me you have not a chance in all hell of getting at Kain," said Moebius, smugly. "Take your chances, reaver-of-souls. Trust me, and gain your revenge." He gestured once with his staff, and a time portal shot with stars opened in the far wall. "Therein lies your next step, Raziel. Will you take it?"
>> 
>> The former vampire approached the portal cautiously. Uncertain, he looked back over his shoulder at the Timestreamer. "Where and when does this lead to?"
>> 
>> "This portal I have raised will follow Kain's course," replied Moebius. "Track him down and prevent him from tinkering with history. You may have no love for me, Raziel, but I have little wish to see Nosgoth ruined any further. Not even I know what Kain's plan is. That, I leave to you."
>> 
>> Raziel turned back to the time portal. Slowly, he stepped through the shimmering curtain and into the slipstream.
>> 
>> Moebius watched him go, eyes lighting with an unholy glee as the tips of Raziel's wings disappeared into the portal. At a manic pace, he pulled levers and made minute adjustments to the strange contraption designed to manipulate time, muttering incomprehensibly to himself all the while. At last he stood back, arms folded across his chest, immeasurably pleased.
>> 
>> All of a sudden, the mechanisms of the timestreaming device began to move independently, as if of their own volition. Moebius stared in disbelief as control of the timestreaming device was ripped from his hands. A second presence, barely felt, was changing the settings and diverting Raziel's course! Frantic, Moebius bent his not-inconsiderable psychic and physical strength to recovering his precious machine. The presence in the room grew stronger and stronger, affirming control. Sending his mind outwards to meet the threat, Moebius furiously initiated contact with the usurper, only to recognize the source of the sending with a most unpleasant shock.
>> 
>> "Damn you!" he howled, unable to repel the presence. "You promised you would _not_ interfere!"
>> 
>> The presence, distinctly feminine, replied coldly, "You knew our noninterference with your schemes would only last for as long as we were unaffected. There is still the matter of the secondborn brother, and we need the reaver-of-souls to rid us of him. Too many of the Host have gone against Turel and lost their lives, only to be reborn as vampires. We cannot permit you to remove Raziel from this frame until this pestilence has been removed." The voice paused. "Unlike you and Kain, we do not desire to manipulate Raziel; there will be a fair trade for a fair fight. It is far easier for us if he sides with us of his own free will. Afterwards, what happens will be up to you."
>> 
>> With that, Moebius' mind was thrown back into his body with jarring force. He gasped, holding his head in his hands, a terrific headache pounding behind both eyes. Defeated, he slumped to the floor. Cradling his pounding head in his hands, Moebius muttered to the empty shadows, "Raziel is _not_ going to like this."
>> 
>>   
[][1]

   [1]: Chapter2.htm



	2. Unknown Regions

> >   
Chapter 2
>> 
>> Unknown Regions   

>> 
>>   

>> 
>> Almost as soon as Raziel walked through the time portal, the maelstrom began.
>> 
>> His passage from the Oracle's Cave to Moebius' sanctuary had been mildly disorienting at worst, but this journey threw his senses into chaos with a sudden lurching wrench. Glittering starlines streaked past his vision, producing a sense of vertigo that would have sparked violent nausea in a human. Raziel, thankfully, was not prone to such weaknesses; however, the sensory distortions were enough to make the undead vampire wish desperately for travel's end. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, the world righted itself and cast him out on an alien shore.
>> 
>> Staggering to his feet, Raziel turned around in time to see the portal close in on itself. He looked around, trying to get some sense of where – and for that matter, when – that dratted sorcerer had placed him. He stood on a rocky outcropping high in an unknown mountain range; to the west, jagged alpine peaks jutted skyward, defying Nosgoth's ever-present smog. The foothills fell away to the east, and the faint sounds of a river reached Raziel on a freshening breeze. Ancient trees, dead and desiccated, lay tumbled on the slopes like fallen matchsticks. Nosgoth's wan sun was setting, its dying rays tingeing the rock a somnolent shade of rose. Below him, maybe a half-mile distant, lay the pocked remains of an ancient volcano, naturally fortified. Raziel's suspicions immediately arose – what better stronghold for Kain?
>> 
>> Raziel began to scrabble down the mountainside, talons providing him excellent purchase on the treacherous ledges. He had not gone fifty yards down before a brilliant flash of light caused him to step back, dangerously close to an edge. The blaze died down, and there stood Moebius, uncharacteristically ruffled.
>> 
>> The vampire was the first to speak. "Where is Kain, archmage?" Raziel demanded, carefully moving away from the precipice. "After that _masterful_ transfer, the least you owe me is an explanation!"
>> 
>> "Listen to me, Raziel." Moebius seemed upset; this did not bode well. "The timestream did not go as planned, and you are not where you are supposed to be. Kain is not here."
>> 
>> Furious, Raziel lunged out with sword and claw, aching to rip out Moebius' lying tongue. "You _bastard!_ You tricked me!" Raziel's anger turned to astonishment as the Soul Reaver passed through Moebius' standing form – insubstantial, it seemed, as air. A _taish_! Nearly casting himself over a cliff with the force of his attack, he caught himself and whirled to face the apparition. "What is the meaning of this? Why did you bring me here, if Kain is not waiting?" His talons clenched and released with emotion; it was clear that if Moebius had indeed been standing on the ledge, he would have been thrown down in pieces.
>> 
>> Moebius spoke again, his manner conveying urgency. "I do not have time to argue. Control over this matter is out of my hands. In short, you have been recruited. Your younger brother Turel lives yet, and you were diverted to meet the threat by those afflicted by his presence."
>> 
>> Raziel's anger turned to disgust. Humans, most likely. "Are you telling me that some upstart human sorcerer was able to wrest control from your _capable_ hands?" Contempt dripped from his voice; whether it was for humanity or for Moebius was not certain.
>> 
>> The taish shook its head. "Not human, not this time."
>> 
>> "Who then, Moebius?" snarled Raziel. "Answer me!"
>> 
>> The apparition began to speak. "Saraf—" was as far as it got before the sending was abruptly interrupted in a burst of static. Before he could complete his words, Moebius' image dissolved, the sending incomplete.
>> 
>> Staring at the empty space where the ghostlike messenger had stood, Raziel felt his fury burn again, white-hot. To trust that mad oracle, to let himself be duped by machines and magic... Surely someone with a millennium's experience behind him would have, _should_ have, known better! Yet Moebius had seemed genuinely agitated. Had the Sarafan survived? Did they hope to bend Raziel to do their bidding? If that was the case, Raziel reflected, they would have a very great surprise coming. For all his noble words to Kain, he felt no loyalty to a race of priests who were no less bloodthirsty than the creatures they hunted. Vampires, at least, took sustenance from what they killed.
>> 
>> A shrill, piercing shriek cut the air, distracting Raziel from his reverie. That sound had come from the direction of the caldera! Resuming his scramble down the mountainside, Raziel decided to find the origin of the sound – perhaps the human sorcerer who had brought him here was even now meeting a grisly end. If the vampire could have smiled, he would have; as it was, he took pleasure in thinking about devouring the soul of whoever had diverted him from his revenge.
>> 
>> A few hundred yards' drop, and he was upon an old lava plain leading to the mostly-eroded lip of the volcano. The sounds of a scuffle reached him, and he turned to follow. Nothing could have prepared him for what awaited.
>> 
>> Raziel ran towards the source of the sound, pulling up short when he found a body rapidly crumbling into dust. Vampiric? His enemies in the Clan territories had all swiftly decayed once he had devoured their souls; once they were dead, Nature took over with a vengeance. Kneeling to inspect the body before it was completely lost, Raziel discovered a gaping hole in its torso. No doubt about it; this creature had been killed by impalement. Sarafan work, certainly! At least the unknown vampire had died fighting, thought Raziel, not without some measure of sympathy. Of more interest was the trail of blood, faintly luminous, that lay splashed on the rock (but what manner of human has glowing blood? argued some rational corner of his mind) at irregular intervals.
>> 
>> The trail led him for nearly a quarter of a mile into a protected alcove. The smell of blood was stronger, and for a moment Raziel was sorry that he could not feed from what would have been an easy kill. Something moved in the shadows – Raziel could make out a human form draped in a pale cloak. He moved in, flexing his talons. The figure took notice; metal rang against stone as it lifted itself to its feet, obviously in pain.
>> 
>> "Stay back!" it – no, _she_ – hissed, moving out of the shadows. The fading rays of twilight caught the woman fully as she stepped forward, and Raziel stared at her, amazement rapidly replacing fury.
>> 
>> The tricky light could have fooled a less discerning eye into thinking she was human at first; the hands and feet had not mutated into vampiric claws, and her skin, while pale, was not the dead white that his had been. The face was almost human, but closer inspection revealed the upswept ears and angular profile of the more-than-human. And no mortal would have ice-white hair, as well as the silver eyes that watched him now, half in despair and half in menace.
>> 
>> But most startling of all – the drape and fall of shadow Raziel had initially taken for a cloak was in fact a massive pewter-colored wing, pressed tight against one side. The feathers were stained with blood; a slow trickle dripped from the leading edge. Her other wing was half-spread in a threatening gesture, and the hand that was not curled over her wounded side gripped a crystal-headed spear. Raziel did not move away; she was too badly hurt to be much of a threat, and he was too thunderstruck at the moment to do anything but watch.
>> 
>> "Seraph!" he breathed, hardly crediting his eyes. The seraphim had been gone from Nosgoth for an eon and more; the humans told tales of them and decorated their holy shrines with angel wings, not knowing the nature of their bearers. Even the Oracle's Cave had been lined with murals of seraphim armed with twin swords.
>> 
>> Suddenly Moebius' fractured words came back to him. Raziel had assumed that Moebius had been trying to warn him about the Sarafan, but the word "seraphim" was so close that it would have been easy to mistake the two. Had these long-lost immortals summoned him?
>> 
>> The seraph moved towards him, catching her foot on a rock and gasping in pain. She leaned heavily on the haft of her spear for support. Raziel could see blood seeping past her fingers through a hole in her chainmail. Recovering, she steadied herself and leveled her spear at him. Unhurriedly, Raziel brought the Soul Reaver up to guard and waited for the seraph's attack.
>> 
>> At the sight of the sword, the already-pale seraph blanched. Nearly dropping her spear, she breathed, "Truly, can it be? The Archon has succeeded…" At once, she faced Raziel and bowed as regally as she was able, after carefully laying her spear at her feet.
>> 
>> Slightly mollified by her deference, Raziel lowered his sword. Still, his patience grew thin, and he snapped, "Legend though you are, I have little care for your cause, whatever it is. State your business with me, and do it quickly."
>> 
>> Straightening, the seraph met his regard without flinching. "Lord Raziel, you are welcomed to what remains of the lands of the Host Arelim. The Archon begs your aid in the fight against your brother Turel." Ever so briefly, a plea ghosted through silver eyes. "She has sent me to ask you to parley with us, since you, Lord Raziel, are our last best hope."
>> 
>> At that, Raziel paused. If the legends were to be believed, the seraphim rarely troubled themselves with the affairs of human or vampire, preferring instead to watch. Theirs must be a desperate cause indeed if they had gone so far as to seek him out. In spite of it, to be summoned like some common servant did not sit well with him – a pawn again, he thought bitterly. Still, the seraphim were supposedly renowned for their healing and magical skills. Perhaps this could be turned to his advantage after all.
>> 
>> Raziel watched the seraph, weighing her words. Finally, he spoke. "Who are you, that you speak for your Archon?"
>> 
>> She drew herself up proudly, despite obvious pain. "My name is Yahriel."   
  
  
  
[][1]

   [1]: Chapter3.htm



	3. Yahriel

> >   
Chapter 3
>> 
>> Yahriel   
  
  

>> 
>> Yahriel. Ambassador to the Archon, leader of a long-vanished race. Warrior, most likely a mage, and now a supplicant. If the legends were true, her race hardly needed Raziel's services to fight Turel, and his suspicions rose accordingly. They had managed to stand away from the Sarafan purges and Kain's subsequent dominion of Nosgoth, never lifting a wingfeather to aid either side. Now that it served them to do so, the cause was taken up, and Raziel had been pulled away from Kain's cat-and-mouse game to clean up after his brother. He shook his head, tremendously irritated.
>> 
>> "Fight him yourself, Yahriel. I did not come here to do your killing for you." He folded his arms and turned away.
>> 
>> "We have tried, again and again. Therein lies the problem," she replied softly. "Many of our number have fallen, and there have been no new seraphim born since Kain stopped the Wheel of Fate. We are dying, Lord Raziel."
>> 
>> Raziel did not answer. His hearing, still hypersensitive, had picked up a very distinctive sound – the rushing sweep of wings. Glancing to his side, he saw that Yahriel has heard it too. She had picked up her spear and was waiting, tense and alert, for the approach of the unknown flyer. The sun had set, and it would be nearly impossible to see any approaching form against the coming dark, even with his night-adapted eyesight.
>> 
>> The attack came nearly without warning. Raziel had only a confused impression of black feathers and a sweep of air as he ducked away from his assailant, purely on reflex. The creature shrieked a battle cry, and he heard it approach again. Raziel swung the Soul Reaver in a mighty overhead swing as it dive-bombed him, but his blow swung wide and he felt talons rip into his shoulder. The Soul Reaver winked out, leaving him unarmed.
>> 
>> A blaze of white light went up from behind him as a brilliant globe of mage-light streaked skyward. The winged attacker was now apparent – Raziel could see it hovering on ink-dark wings in the air, gauging its next move. Its red eyes burned. Clearly this creature was a vampire, but as far as Raziel knew, there were no other vampires besides him who had ever developed wings. Soul-hungry and ready to fight, Raziel sent blasts of telekinetic energy hurtling towards the nephil, intending to knock it out of the air. It laughed at him, dodging with ease. Raziel snarled in frustration – the vampire was too damned fast!
>> 
>> From the corner of his eye, he saw Yahriel slowly spread both wings. Without the protective layer of feathers, the extent of her wounds was clear. Great gashes had been raked in her side, and Raziel suspected that something like this nephil had been the cause. She brought both wings sweeping down, and launched into the air. Her flight was labored, but she had pulled herself aloft. Despite himself, Raziel was both fascinated and infuriated by the motion of the beautiful grey feathers, and a thought all unbidden rose to the forefront of his mind – _I want my wings back! _This freedom of motion would have been his as well if Kain had not ripped the bones from his wings, and the memories of his first tentative flight did little to stem the combination of desire and jealousy.
>> 
>> Above him, the nephil had noticed the second combatant, and evidently decided that she was much more interesting prey. From its superior altitude, it stooped on the barely-flighted Yahriel, claws outstretched. As the vampire streaked towards her, she brought her wings down hard, rapidly gaining altitude. The nephil shot under the seraph, and wheeled around in an explosion of feathers for another pass. Yahriel, forcing reluctant wings to move, started to fly away from Raziel, attempting to make herself the primary target. She turned towards her adversary, lifting her weapon. Shrieking, the nephil swooped out of the sky as the seraph sighted along the haft of her spear. Yahriel threw, and the spear kindled a stream of fire from the air as it roared towards its quarry. The vampire saw the missile and rolled right, laughing in triumph. Its glee was short-lived as the seraph's spear curved, impossibly, in its flight and slammed through the creature's chest. It fell heavily to the ground, wings splayed.
>> 
>> Breathing hard, Yahriel landed carefully beside the fallen nephil, and stretched her hand out. Golden energy lifted from the dying vampire in a stream, and she pulled it into herself. Her wounds, a deep and livid red, started visibly closing. Startled, Raziel watched the seraph feed – did she feed on soul energy as well? No, it couldn't be – the soul was even now lifting from the creature's body, released from its prison of flesh. Reflexively, he inhaled the soul, and the Soul Reaver manifested again, tendrils of green energy wrapping almost lovingly around his arm.
>> 
>> "What did you take from that creature?" he whispered, half to himself.
>> 
>> The seraph knelt at the side of the fallen nephil, ignoring him. She gently lifted its head, smoothing ragged dark hair away from its face. A brief expression of intense, painful sorrow crossed her features for a moment. Her voice, when she spoke, was full of suppressed anger. "Witness for yourself, Lord Raziel, the death of our race. This poor wretch was my kindred once, but he was caught by your brother and raised again as a vampire. If he had not been bound to Turel's service, we could have welcomed him back, vampire or no; but as your brother's slave, the greatest kindness we can show him is release." Yahriel bent to pull her spear out of the body. "Forgive me, Kochab."
>> 
>> Raziel was silent. He knew the seraph's pain all too well – despite his brothers' betrayal and his subsequent rage, he still bore some measure of self-loathing over his forced fratricides. Still, he had not forgotten who had helped his brother Dumah hurl him into the Abyss, and the sight of her wings had stirred his anger at Turel's lack of action anew. The seraph's genuine anguish over her fallen comrade, despite the nephil's vampiric condition, had stirred the infinitesimal amount of compassion Kain had left him. All at once Raziel decided to see what these seraphim could offer him; if this were a cheat, the results would be sufficiently bloody so as to discourage any further would-be overlords.
>> 
>> He redirected his attention towards the seraph, who was stoically watching her former comrade fall away into dust. "What bargain does your Archon offer me, Yahriel?" he asked. "I might be persuaded to aid you, provided your terms are to my liking."
>> 
>> Yahriel paused a moment before replying. "The Archon herself would be best suited to answer your questions. For that, I must take you to the Aerie."
>> 
>> "Where?" Raziel looked around; this bare, desolate area hardly looked fit for habitation.
>> 
>> "High in Mount Aderyn, to the west," she said, pointing towards a mountain a little lower than its majestic brothers.
>> 
>> Raziel laughed outright. "How shall I get there, ambassador?" His voice was thick with mockery. "Shall I lift these mutilated wings to catch the mountain winds?"
>> 
>> The seraph sighed. "I can carry you, of course." Yahriel looked his tattered, skeletal form up and down. "I am a good deal stronger than I look, and you would hardly be much of a burden even on an extended flight." Her gaze sharpening, she added, "Or, if you prefer, you might well be able to carry yourself, Lord Raziel."
>> 
>> "Do not insult me, seraph." Raziel's tone was icy. "These ruined remnants of my heritage will not serve. You had best mind your tongue if you wish to retain my interest."
>> 
>> "I am not toying with you," she said, matching his tone. "I have a bargain of my own to strike, and I assure you that the results will be far more immediate. I have the power to restore your broken wings, and more. I can do it, and I will – provided you help me, first."
>> 
>> "Such a thing is impossible!" Raziel sneered, dismissing her words as a story for a foolish fledgling. "You cannot regenerate this corpse I am cursed to inhabit, no matter what the legends say of your healing skills."
>> 
>> "Can I not?" the seraph replied, mildly. From a crack in the stone, she pulled out a long-dead twig, with a few crumbling leaves still attached. As Raziel watched, disbelieving, she surrounded the wood with the same luminous energy he had seen her pull from the vampire corpse earlier. Under her hands, the twig revived slowly, and the skeletal leaves filled in and became whole and green. Silently, she handed the living branch to Raziel, who took it in his talons as if it were made of glass.
>> 
>> A living branch, impossible and possible all at once. A chance presented, however slim, to gain the skies and reclaim his birthright – the temptation was almost too much to resist. "What do you want from me?" Raziel asked.
>> 
>> Yahriel flicked a wing and resettled it. "As you have seen, Turel has been slowly decimating my kindred and making them his new children. One seraph he caught was my brother, Jehoel. In my brother's case, Turel was sloppy. Jehoel was not yet dead when Turel breathed in his vampiric gift and drew a second soul into his body. Now, there are two souls in one body, each fighting for dominance." She absently rubbed her hand over her nearly-healed side. "I tried to pull the second soul from his body, but I cannot do it. I barely escaped with my life. As a reaver of souls, only you can both drive the borrowed soul from my brother's body and absorb it."
>> 
>> Resting again on the haft of her spear, Yahriel fixed Raziel with her level grey gaze. "I would do almost anything to free my _irin _– my twin. Restoring you will not be easy, but I will pay the price to bring my brother back." Lifting her chin in defiance, she challenged, "What say you, Lord Raziel?"
>> 
>> Finally allowing himself to be swayed, "Where is your brother?" asked Raziel.
>> 
>> She gestured with the head of the spear back the way Raziel had come. "There is a tunnel, not too far along, which leads inside the mountain." The seraph smiled, thinly. "The path should be obvious, as it is clearly marked with my blood."
>> 
>> "I did not see any tunnels. Perhaps you should elaborate." Raziel peered into the gloom, but even his sensitive vision could not make out a hole in the walls of the caldera.
>> 
>> The seraph muttered to herself, "Perish it, it is nearly impossible to see anything. Too dark." Yahriel's hands described a globe, and white light poured from between her fingers and licked at the surrounding stone. She released the large witchlight, and it illuminated the surrounding area with cold fire for a good half-mile in every direction. Beckoning him, she began to walk in the direction she had motioned with her spear. As they traveled, a cave half-hidden by an overhang came into sight.
>> 
>> "Do you see?" asked Yahriel. Raziel nodded assent. "In there, across the underground river and high up, there is a cavern where Jehoel has barricaded himself. Just remember – if you kill the body, Jehoel's soul will depart and the vampire soul will completely inhabit his corpse." She drew back a moment, considering the Soul Reaver. "Does your weapon dissolve every time you are injured?" the seraph asked.
>> 
>> "The Soul Reaver may only manifest itself when I am at full strength." Raziel remembered the Elder's words echoing in his ears after he had taken possession of the symbiotic weapon.
>> 
>> "In that case, if you will forgive my presumption, you will need a more reliable – if less powerful – weapon which will serve to take down a flying target." Yahriel's fingers tightened on her spear, then released as she appeared to make up her mind. "I will give you mine own. It possesses certain…properties that may be of great use to you." She carefully proffered the weapon to Raziel, who took it.
>> 
>> "Now – choose a target and cast the spear," she said. "Make it something difficult to hit." Yahriel smiled. "It will not miss."
>> 
>> Raziel lifted the weapon to his shoulder. Its balance was excellent, and it fairly pulled at his talons to be gone. A faraway tree trunk, toppled into the stone, would suffice as a proper demonstration. He hurled the spear, and it flew unerringly without losing altitude to bury itself in the ancient wood. Before Raziel could move to retrieve the spear, Yahriel stopped him.
>> 
>> "Do not bestir yourself to chase your weapon." She nodded towards the tree trunk. "Call it back."
>> 
>> "Call it back?" questioned Raziel.
>> 
>> "Summon the spear in your mind, and it will lift from its place to fly home to your hand."
>> 
>> Feeling a trifle foolish, Raziel stretched his hand out and called the weapon to return. As if pulled by an unseen hand, the spear shook itself free of the wood, and streaked back towards him to settle neatly in his outstretched claws. Useful thing, this…
>> 
>> "Use it well, Lord Raziel. Once called, this weapon will break stone to return to you," said Yahriel. "You have all the help I can give you. I hope it is enough."
>> 
>> She bowed her head in farewell. Raziel gripped the spear tightly, the light from the quiescent Soul Reaver reflecting in the crystal head. He lifted it briefly in salute, then turned and ran into the cavern.
>> 
>> Yahriel watched him disappear. A sudden chill came over her, and she shivered, wrapping herself in her wings. Unarmed and still hurt, she was all too vulnerable, but winning the reaver-of-souls to their cause was too important for such things. Setting the strongest watch-wards she could, she settled down to wait. Concern for her brother and his would-be rescuer gnawed at the corners of her mind as she began pulling in threads of potential energy for later use.
>> 
>> Our last hope, Yahriel thought, shivering again. Looking toward the cave mouth, she murmured softly, "Godspeed."
>> 
>>   
[][1]

   [1]: Chapter2.htm



	4. Into the Labyrinth

  
Chapter 4

Into the Labyrinth   


> > > The light from the seraph's witchlight faded slowly behind him as Raziel ran into the shadowy corridor. Dimly, he could see flickers of light in the passage ahead, perhaps cast from a brazier or a torch. The path twisted right and up, leading on into the depths of the ancient volcano.
>>> 
>>> The grade of the passage grew steeper, and his footsteps slowed accordingly. The barely-seen brazier was in full sight now, shedding light down a steep rock face. Tumbled stone and jutting ledges described a path to the top, but the sheer height of the passage forcibly reminded Raziel that for the time being, he was at a markéd disadvantage – the seraph could easily have flown to the top of the wall, but he would be forced to find another way to scale a wall which was not so convenient.
>>> 
>>> Nowhere to go but up. The first ledge was well within reach, and the second was only slightly higher. From his new perch, Raziel peered up into the shadows to gauge his next jump. The next, most obvious leap looked quite precarious – several boulders were tumbled haphazardly on top of one another, and it looked like one wrongly placed step might send them all down. The top of the stack looked to be a high jump away from the next ledge, so perhaps a shift to the spectral plane was in order.
>>> 
>>> His material body fell away into dust as Raziel warped space, and the muted blues and greens of the spectral realm surrounded him. In the distance, he could hear sluagh skulking about, but the repulsive creatures were too far away to notice him. He jumped to the closest ledge, then to the second. Another short leap put him on top of the boulders, and Raziel gathered himself for the next plateau. He sprang, talons grasping for the next shelf –
>>> 
>>> And fell short by a paltry few inches. He tried again, and the edge remained tantalizingly out of reach. Frustrated, Raziel jumped back down to the cave floor, and started looking for a shift gate. Perhaps in the physical realm, the rock protrusion was close enough to allow him to grasp it. He would have to be quick, as the boulders did not look like they would hold his weight for long.
>>> 
>>> The ethereal blue flame of a gate burned a few hundred yards back the way he had come. Raziel sent a few energy-bolts hurtling down the tunnel to put the pesky sluagh to flight; the creatures were more trouble than they were worth to fight. He heard them scuttle off away from him, then he ran back to the gate. Summoning matter from the very bones of Nosgoth, Raziel willed himself to manifest.
>>> 
>>> Time to try again. The first two jumps were repeated, and Raziel now stood perched on the second ledge again. Pebbles rattled down to the ground as he edged closer to the stack. Raziel crouched down, then sprang. Midair, he extended his ruined wings, hoping to soften his landing enough so as not to disturb the rocks' precarious balance.
>>> 
>>> As soon as his clawed feet touched the top of the rock, the stone began to groan and rumble ominously. The vampire quickly glanced upward – where to go? An ominous crack from beneath him caused Raziel to look down, only to see the rock beneath his feet begin to slide.
>>> 
>>> _ Damn! _Without thinking, he jumped upwards, blindly hoping to catch the next ledge. Yahriel's spear dropped from his grip as he reached out for something, _anything_. Just as he became certain that he was going to fall back to the cave floor, Raziel felt his claw-tips scrape against stone. He grabbed desperately for the unseen shelf, and his talons punched into the basalt hard enough to send chips of rock flying. For one uncertain moment, he was certain he would lose his grip, but he bore down harder and grabbed on with his other hand. His feet scraped at the shelf as he pulled his way to safety.
>>> 
>>> With relief, Raziel looked up again to see the brazier not ten feet up from where he stood. Time to test the crystal spear for himself, now. He reached out a claw, and the spear rocketed up from the cavern floor to find him. Inwardly, Raziel smiled – how many times would this have been infernally convenient in his travels through Nosgoth? He leaped easily to the top of the rock wall, weapon in hand.
>>> 
>>> Fortunate thing too, because in his haste to escape his fall, the vampire had not seen the enormous Turelim guarding the passage deeper into the mountain. It roared in surprise, then extended its claws and lunged towards him. Caught unawares, Raziel dodged backwards, nearly losing his footing on the edge of the cliff. He ducked away from the Turelim and the edge of the wall. Red eyes ablaze, the horned vampire slashed again, its claws raking Raziel's chest.
>>> 
>>> Raziel snarled furiously and brought the blade of the spear up into the vampire's face. It staggered back with the force of the blow. Raziel gave the Turelim no time to recover and struck again quickly, first slamming the butt-end of the spear into its abdomen, then swinging the head around for another blow to its head. Dazed, the bloodied vampire swayed back and forth, and Raziel finished his adversary with a quick thrust through its heart. He drank the soul in, then picked up the spear.
>>> 
>>> The fitful light from the brazier revealed irregular dark red splotches on the rock. _Yahriel's blood_, thought Raziel, as he carefully began to follow the trail. It led on into a passageway to the left. He ran on, noticing that torches in wall sconces set at intervals along the wall had begun to light the way. Raziel slowed, cautious. Though vampires' vision was excellently adapted for night sight, they still could not see in total darkness, and it was a safe assumption that the additional light would soon mean additional enemies.
>>> 
>>> The passage bent sharply to the right, and Raziel peered around the corner before making a move. Good thing, too, for two massive Turelim were guarding the corridor. His last adversary had provided enough energy to bring him back to full strength, so the pair of vampires was not quite as much trouble as it would have been otherwise. Raziel lifted the crystal spear to his shoulder and aimed at one of the unsuspecting Turelim.
>>> 
>>> The spear blazed through the air to find its mark, spitting the unfortunate vampire. The Turelim roared in mortal agony, clutching the haft of the spear as it collapsed heavily onto the stone floor. Its companion, alarmed, charged towards Raziel, but the undead vampire had ducked into the shadows, waiting for the right moment. The Turelim walked down the passage, warily watching for the unseen attacker, but Raziel bided his time until the minotaur had passed him.
>>> 
>>> Once the creature's back was to him, Raziel sprang from the shadows and brought his sword down in a sweeping arc from the Turelim's shoulder to its hip. Stunned immediately, it was easy prey for the final coup de grâce. The Soul Reaver's energy cracked, and the Turelim's body blew apart, leaving only the soul. Before the two liberated souls could vanish into the spectral realm, Raziel pulled his clan-drape from his face and drew both orbs of green light into himself.
>>> 
>>> Upon further exploration, the tunnel the two vampires had been guarding seemed to be a dead end. There was no visible door or gap in the stone, yet it was clear that Yahriel had gotten through somehow – there was blood drying slowly on the floor very close to one rock face. Dropping to his knees, Raziel closely examined the patch of red. Closer inspection revealed that it actually extended under one edge of the wall. This section of the rock must actually swing out somehow, mused Raziel, and as he ran the tips of his claws over the stone, he felt them catch on a nearly-invisible seam. As he traced the seam upwards, his claw-tips dipped into a cleverly hidden depression in the stone. A latch clicked, and the stone swung open.
>>> 
>>> Spear at the ready, Raziel walked into the next corridor. Very faintly, the sound of rushing water echoed in the tunnel. Yahriel had spoken of an underground river, so perhaps it was not that far off. The ceiling began to lift higher as he proceeded, and eventually the passage widened into a cavern. The sound of water was a little stronger, but mixed in was a sound Raziel now recognized – the sweep of wings.
>>> 
>>> Flattening himself against the wall, Raziel quickly scanned the area for the flyer. If the nephil saw him first, the fight would go all the harder. Wings threw shadows from a stray beam of light, and Raziel quickly turned towards the movement. The wingbeats grew fainter, then began to approach again. Some kind of a patrol, perhaps? A torch high on the wall cast a faint illumination into the gloom, and this time Raziel caught sight of the nephil as it winged onward. All he had to do was wait for another pass…
>>> 
>>> The nephil swung back around, flying again towards Raziel's position. Raziel gripped the haft of the spear tightly, and hoped that the spear would work as well for him as it had for Yahriel. He pointed the crystalline head at the amorphous lump of shadow that was the nephil, and threw. He had given up his position now for sure, and he was at a severe disadvantage against a winged opponent.
>>> 
>>> The cast was all Raziel could have hoped for. The spear pinned the nephil as neatly as a needle through a pincushion, and with a shriek, the nephil fell. Flush with triumph, Raziel drew back his clan-drape to inhale the soul, but he froze as the sound of a second set of wings drew closer. He remembered with sudden clarity the newly-dead vampire he'd encountered before he met Yahriel, and her subsequent battle with another former seraph shortly thereafter. Raziel nearly groaned aloud – the damned things traveled in _pairs_.
>>> 
>>> No time to think, now. The wingbeats were growing stronger. Raziel drew his cowl away to pull in the soul before the second nephil arrived, only to see the green energy fade away into the spectral realm. At least he still had the Soul Reaver.
>>> 
>>> Screaming, the fallen angel's companion stooped on him, talons extended. The undead vampire was barely able to roll away in time to avoid its sharp claws. He tried blasting it with telekinetic bolts as it swooped away, but it dodged and stooped on him again. Raziel slashed at it as it passed, hoping to land at least one good blow, but the thing only laughed and spun around again. This time, it grabbed for his sword-arm, and sunk razor-sharp talons deep into him. The ground receded rapidly as he was carried aloft.
>>> 
>>> For the second time in his life, Raziel was airborne – but this time, he was not the one in control. He struck at the nephil's shoulder from his precarious position and had the satisfaction of seeing the its face bleed profusely. It hissed at him, then unexpectedly grinned. Its claws relaxed a bit, and with growing alarm, Raziel looked down. They were well above the ground, and with a sudden burst of understanding Raziel realized that the nephil meant to drop him. He grabbed for the winged one's arm, but it easily shook him loose. Spreading his wings, Raziel tried to slow the rate of his descent, but he was falling too fast. He hit the stone floor with enough force to knock him completely into the spectral realm.
>>> 
>>> The world spun into shades of blue and green as his body dissolved again. The spear hung before him, frozen in time. Raziel picked himself up, shaking his head. He had been careless; overconfident, even. He would have to be more cautious if he were to battle these nephil pairs.
>>> 
>>> More sluagh were shuffling around in the shadows, and it did not take them long to notice the new spirit-form among them. Three of the hideous beasts loped towards him, and Raziel began blasting them with telekinetic energy. The leader of the pack took several bolts in quick succession, and it howled as its stolen energy bled off into the void. The other two circled him warily, waiting for an opening.
>>> 
>>> One jumped at him, hissing. He dodged easily, and swung twice with the Soul Reaver. It shrieked and ran, its red aura bobbing. Its companion, unmoved, struck out with misshapen claws, knocking Raziel backward. He recovered, and renewed his attack. The Soul Reaver sang through the air and rained blows on the unfortunate remaining sluagh, depriving it of its twisted parody of life.
>>> 
>>> Again, Raziel pulled his cowl from his face, and drew in the shades of the insubstantial sluagh. Their energy filled him, and he felt the power to manifest himself rise again. All that was needed was another portal. He looked around the cavern, and saw the concentric rings of energy shining in a corner.
>>> 
>>> Gathering matter once more, Raziel reappeared in the material realm. His adversary still circled high above, apparently unaware of his renewed presence. Raziel called the spear back to him, and the unexpected movement brought the nephil diving out of the air. This time, he was prepared – he threw, and the spear tracked his adversary so that the nephil dove right into the weapon's wickedly sharp tip. With grim satisfaction, Raziel took the soul, enjoying the sensation of absorbing the energy of the being who had sought to kill him.
>>> 
>>> An opening on the far side of the cavern, reaching from floor to ceiling, appeared to be his only way out. Gathering up his weapon, Raziel ran on. The scent of water grew stronger, and as he approached, the thunderous roar of a river filled his ears. He passed through the egress, and found himself standing on the edge of a canyon high above the rushing, tumbling waters of the underground river. Foaming rapids churned, and the spray blew high above, covering the rocks with a treacherous, slippery layer of mist. Almost directly across from him, the shadowed entrance to another tunnel stood, half-shrouded in cloud.
>>> 
>>> Once again thwarted by the lack of wings, Raziel paced the river's edge, puzzling. To swim such dangerous rapids would be futile, as the water would carry him downstream much faster than he could hope to swim to the other side. Even if he shifted into the spectral realm, there was no telling how deep the river was, and he could find himself wandering the canyon for hours, unable to get out of the riverbed. Raziel stared into the gloom, irritated. His keen eyes scanned the far shore, looking for an answer.
>>> 
>>> Again, Raziel walked the shore. This time, he caught sight of something unusual. Two sturdy metal posts were anchored firmly to the rock. He tugged on one, experimentally, but it refused to budge. Remnants of what looked like rope twined around the base of the pole. Bridgeheads, perhaps? Raziel stood between the staves and looked carefully at the opposite shore.
>>> 
>>> There! What was that? Something hung directly across from him, and it looked to be anchored to a pair of poles identical to the ones beside him. A fallen wooden bridge! If there were some way to bring it across the chasm again, he would be able to cross. But how?
>>> 
>>> Raziel stared at the crystalline spear as he pondered. At once, the answer came to him, and he nearly laughed aloud. If this spear would always return like a trained falcon to the hand of its master, then surely, like a falcon, it could retrieve something. He aimed the spear at the lowest board he could see on the bridge, and threw. The spear pierced the slat with a distant thump, and hung half-buried in the rock face. Raziel lifted his hand and summoned his weapon, and it pulled itself out of the rock – but not out of the board. The old, rickety bridge trailed behind it like a banner, and Raziel caught his prize. He tied the broken ropes to the pillars securely, then eased out onto the footbridge.
>>> 
>>> The bridge groaned and swayed alarmingly under his weight, and Raziel slowly crept along, avoiding any sudden movements. He hoped fervently that no new nephilim would appear while he was in such a precarious state, as he had little hope of fighting them on such uncertain footing. One foot in front of the other; gently now, don't rock the bridge too much…
>>> 
>>> It was with a great sigh of relief that Raziel reached the far shore. If Yahriel kept her word, soon he would no longer have to worry about falling off of ancient bridges. A slight wind tugged at his wingtips, reminding him of the promise of flight. Hope, alien and elusive, flirted with him briefly, and in his mind's eye he could see the bright flash of Yahriel's wings. Soon.
>>> 
>>> The tunnel he had reached led higher into the belly of the mountain. He ran through the twisting passages, dispatching the occasional Turelim he encountered. Hardly a difficult task, but there was no telling what would happen when he encountered Yahriel's brother. How to remove a soul without harming the body – a knotty problem if there ever was one. Raziel had Yahriel's spear, but impaling her brother would surely kill him. His arsenal of glyph spells might work, but most relied on sheer physical force, which might or might not hold the answer. Water would be useless against a half-vampire – the skin of living beings was, of course, impervious to it. Fire or sunlight? He would have to think on it.
>>> 
>>> Still ruminating, Raziel slowed his steps. A pair of doors barred his way, which meant that something interesting must be inside. He put an ear up to the door, and heard both the grunted half-language of the Turelim and the hissing sound of feathers dragged over a stone floor. From the sound of it, there were several enemies inside, too many to take on one by one. He would have to eliminate them out with a glyph spell, and quickly. Calling eldritch energy to his claw-tips, Raziel prepared to open the double doors and inundate the room with Fire.
>>> 
>>> He pulled open the doors to see several Turelim and two more nephilim, who immediately spread their wings to take flight. The two Turelim nearest Raziel belched force-bolts at him, and he jumped to avoid the blasts. Firmly visualizing the shimmering form of the Fire Glyph, Raziel poured energy into it, and flame raced down his arms to light his talons ablaze. He lifted his hands up, and a wave of fiery energy set the room alight. The nephilim cried out in agony and fell back to earth, their feathers ablaze, even as the Turelim sought vainly to beat out the flames consuming them.
>>> 
>>> Raziel merely waited, unhurt, until the last of the vampires slumped to the ground. The room was filled with the lambent green glow of liberated souls, and Raziel gorged himself on the surfeit of energy. Safe for the moment, he paced around the room, looking for the next passage. High above, a ledge ran along the wall and up out of sight, but there was no obvious way within the steeply-walled room to reach it. Perhaps farther along the way, the ledge would dip down low enough to permit access. In the corner, another tunnel snaked out of sight, and there appeared to be no other egress from the room.
>>> 
>>> Faced with no other choice, Raziel entered the tunnel. Small and narrow, it hemmed him in uncomfortably. How the enormous Turelim managed to get in there was beyond him, unless the nephilim carried them down. He crept along, ducking and dodging rock protrusions.
>>> 
>>> He came out into what looked like a dead end. The sheer rockface offered no grips for his claws, and the ledge he'd seen before looked to be no closer. Cursing to himself, Raziel paced the room. Light from a torch danced over the walls, illuminating the folds of old lava flows. Something was different about part of the wall directly below the elusive ledge. A pattern of striated shale, perhaps forced up into the heart of the volcano by geologic activity, traced a convoluted but upward path to the top. Experimentally, Raziel tested his claws against the textured surface, and found that with a little pressure, his talons sank in easily.
>>> 
>>> Finally, a way up! He jumped onto the wall, punching holes in the soft sedimentary rock. Hand over hand, he climbed his way to the top. The erratic path forced him to reach and stretch, but soon he was pulling himself over the lip of the ledge.
>>> 
>>> Raziel doubled back towards the large cavern, this time on a higher level. His footsteps echoed strangely in the cavern, thrown back by the steep walls. He wondered how much further he would have to go to reach Yahriel's brother. Yahriel had described the underground river, but he did not know exactly what qualified as "high up." If wings were required to reach Jehoel's sanctum, all might be in vain.
>>> 
>>> The path grew steeper and steeper. Raziel's footsteps slowed to a walk as he labored to climb the slope. Higher up, indeed! Every footstep was labored out of the sheer steepness of the grade, and several times his foot-claws dug into the stone as he lifted himself higher out of sheer force of will. Finally, the path began to level out again, and he ran more easily. In the distance, the shadows seemed deeper, and Raziel sensed that he was very close to his goal. He waited, alert, for any sign of Jehoel.
>>> 
>>> A wail, nearly inaudible, echoed down the pathway. Raziel stopped short and listened – it was the sound of a creature in pain. It was a sound most familiar to a vampire who had hunted ruthlessly with his Clan. For a moment, Raziel permitted himself to remember the vicious joy of hunting with his Clan, and an old hunger stirred in him for a moment. He was hunting again, but this time for the soul that would free him, not for sustenance.
>>> 
>>> The wail grew to a shriek, and the shriek faded into a desperate moan. Raziel followed the source of the sound, racing past tumbles of rock and leaping over fissures. The frenzied, insane crying was the stuff of nightmare. To Raziel, it was almost music. Ahead, the rock was split wide open, but what lay beyond was the ending Yahriel had promised.
>>> 
>>> Across a chasm, the dark, gaping maw of a large cave loomed. The tortured cries echoed from its entrance, and a constant stream of screaming and agonized shouting assailed his ears. Raziel approached the cave with unwonted trepidation. A different tack than the ones used to dispatch his brothers was necessary to bring down this half-vampire. The injuries his brothers sustained were all part of the fight, and necessary. However, the impaling stroke or blaze of fire that removed a vampire from the world would do him no good for this possessed seraph, since the angel would die from those injuries once the vampiric soul lifted from his body.
>>> 
>>> Before gliding across the crevasse, Raziel scouted the area for anything he could use that might slow down the seraph without injuring him. Debris from what could have once been a Turelim encampment was scattered among the rocks, and he began to roll some of the smaller boulders aside in order to find any overlooked weapons. A thorough search of the remnants revealed nothing interesting, and Raziel hissed in frustration.
>>> 
>>> A flutter of motion caught his eye, and the vampire whirled, alarmed. A breeze coming from somewhere – the cave mouth, perhaps – riffled the clan-drape around his ruined face and set whatever-it-was to further motion in the shadows. Yahriel's spear at the ready, Raziel approached the unknown object.
>>> 
>>> It suddenly hissed against the rock, snapping in the breeze. Spooked, Raziel jabbed into the shadows with his spear, and felt it impale something. He rapidly pulled the spear back…
>>> 
>>> …and saw tatters of fabric hanging from the crystal head. With a dawning realization, Raziel reached a taloned hand into the crevice to pull out whatever was lodged in there. With a sharp tug, the piece of sturdy fabric came loose in a shower of pebbles. Something else fell too, dislodged by the rocks; Raziel could hear it slither down the wall and thump to the floor at his feet.
>>> 
>>> He held out the fabric at arm's length, and shook his head in disgust at his own trepidation once the sigil on the cloth became clear. One of Turel's clan flags, no doubt about it, left behind when his encampment moved on. The object that had fallen to the floor was a tangle of thin rope, used to hang the flag, and a few strips of leather ties.
>>> 
>>> The combination of rope, cloth, and pebbles sparked an idea. He sat down on a nearby rock and wedged the spear's end into the rock so it was held still. The edge was very sharp, and Raziel brought the middle of the clan flag down across it to shear it into two sections. Another cut divided the flag into quarters. He laid the sections out and scooped a clawful of pebbles into each one, then gathered up the corners and wrapped up the pebbles, securing them inside with a short length of rope. Raziel then threaded a length of leather into and around the gathered portion of cloth for each little pebble-ball, and joined all four lengths into one knot. When he had finished, he had a crude but effective bola. He draped his new weapon around his neck and prepared to meet Jehoel.
>>> 
>>> A short glide across the crevasse put him at the cave mouth. The eerie moaning grew in volume, and gradually became intelligible:
>>> 
>>> "_No! No!_ Get out of my mind, you filthy beast! Get out and leave me at peace…"
>>> 
>>> The words dissolved out into frenzied howling, and the sound of wings beating against stone was plain. Cries of pain and anger mingled, until abruptly the tenor of the voice changed to something low and clotted with age.
>>> 
>>> "You will yield, little angel; my master has commanded it…"
>>> 
>>> Raziel stood for a moment, listening to the two personalities argue with one another. Perhaps if he were quiet enough, the seraph would remain distracted and would not notice him until he was close enough to strike. He hugged the wall, looking warily towards the source of the sound and creeping silently closer.
>>> 
>>> The cavern brightened, and a winged shape flashed through the air. As Jehoel flew by, Raziel flattened himself against the wall and slid the Soul Reaver behind him so its eldritch light would not attract undue attention. He looked hard at the seraph as it winged overhead. Yahriel's twin was gold where she was silver, and his magnificent golden wings beat an erratic pattern in the air. Sensing that the angel was not paying attention, Raziel edged out towards the seraph, who was holding his head in his hands while he hovered.
>>> 
>>> Abruptly, the angel turned in midair and faced him directly. For a moment, the face was white and terrified, then another presence took over and the seraph's eyes turned a brilliant red. The vampire half had surfaced, and from the look on its face, it recognized Raziel. The seraph's mouth twisted into a parody of a smile, and budding fangs glinted in the light. It spoke, and its voice was like old mud.
>>> 
>>> "The apostate Raziel, come to claim another soul. My Master will be most pleased with me when I have sent you back to the Abyss."
>>> 
>>> Raziel almost laughed. "Do not be so sure of yourself. The Elder raised me from that torment, and the hounds of Hell themselves cannot sunder what the Elder has created. I will not be packed off so easily as you claim."
>>> 
>>> Lazily, the winged one swooped back and forth. "You cannot kill this body. I know your bargain. This one's twin tried to drive me off, but to no avail. A weakling, swayed by _affection_." The inflection in the voice turned the last word into a curse. "Slipshod work. She left this place, broken and bleeding, without her brother."
>>> 
>>> Now Raziel did laugh. "You mock yourself, abomination. You do not inhabit your body fully because your own precious Master was not patient enough to let the owner's soul escape. Your soul will taste sweet, fledgling, for with it comes my own freedom." Raziel lifted the Soul Reaver and let forth with a powerful blast of telekinetic energy.
>>> 
>>> Caught unaware, the vampire angel was blown across the room to impact heavily against one wall. Raziel ran after it, pulling his bola from his neck. It shook its head, temporarily stunned. As Raziel approached, it snarled, and spread its wings for that first crucial downsweep to regain the air. It launched itself into the air, but Raziel was quicker. He threw his bola, and the entangling weights spun themselves around one wing, fouling it. His opponent fell heavily back to earth, shrieking.
>>> 
>>> Fisting his claws, Raziel ordered the Soul Reaver to quiescence. The angel lashed out at him, but pulled its attack abruptly and jerked its head back. It screamed, and when it turned its head back to Raziel, the eyes had changed to a warm amber-green. This time it was Jehoel who looked out at Raziel, and his smile was fierce and glad.
>>> 
>>> "You have it on the run, reaver-of-souls. Remember, what burns a vampire is warmth to the rest of the world…"
>>> 
>>> With a vengeance, the vampire soul came roaring back, and the eyes burned red once more. Raziel blasted it again with energy before it could get its bearings. It staggered but did not move. Curling his talons in, Raziel battered his opponent about the head. It grunted heavily, spreading the functional wing for balance. Sensing imminent victory, Raziel moved in closer.
>>> 
>>> A blast of energy not unlike the ones he had been firing knocked Raziel right off his feet. Cursing himself for a fool, Raziel recovered, and scrambled to his feet. He had let himself be lured into overconfidence. With alarm, he saw that the seraph had been taking advantage of the lull in battle to start shredding the tangle of leather around one wing, and it had already freed some of its feathers.
>>> 
>>> Gathering energy, Raziel resolved not to let the creature get the better of him again. He called up the Sound Glyph in his mind, and a wave of ringing energy rolled outwards. It completely bowled the distracted seraph over, and Raziel followed the initial burst with bolt after bolt of power.
>>> 
>>> The vampire angel groaned. Its legs buckled, and it fell to one knee. Blood oozed from the corners of its mouth and its nose. It crumpled again, barely catching itself in time with one hand. It looked at him again, and dull red blood dripped to the stone floor. Red faded again from its eyes, and Raziel understood that Jehoel was back in command again.
>>> 
>>> "Drive it out now, reaver-of-souls…" Jehoel coughed, and bloody spume coated his lips. "You may not get another chance…"
>>> 
>>> Frantically, Raziel ran the seraph's riddle over and over again in his mind. What would harm a vampire but not a seraph? He stared at the injured angel. Jehoel's feathers shook as he breathed, and Raziel stared at the golden feathers in a kind of stupor. Gold… gold was somehow important. The glow of light from the feathers reminded him of warmth, and something else…
>>> 
>>> Understanding came on him in a rush. _Sunlight_! Of course! Raziel called on the power of the Sunlight Glyph, and it came surging readily over him. It gathered in him, filling his mind with light. He lifted his arms up, and the white glow of light shone forth over the cave, illuminating it in one brilliant flash. When the blaze died down, Jehoel's form lay still on the floor, but a Vampire Wraith wrung its insubstantial arms in anger as it faded into the Spectral Realm. Raziel dropped his material form, and the world twisted into greens and blues as he gave chase.
>>> 
>>> The Wraith was furious. It gave an earsplitting scream and dove at Raziel. He was ready, though, and the Soul Reaver ripped through its insubstantial form like a hot knife through butter. The blue aura around its head faded to yellow, but it was not finished yet. It dodged Raziel's next blow and caught him solidly with a claw to the midsection. Immediately, Raziel felt his energy begin to drain away through the rent in his spectral form.
>>> 
>>> He swung again, and the Wraith's connection to him broke. Another solid blow and the Wraith dissolved completely, its essence bleeding back off into the ether. Pulling back his cowl, Raziel sucked in the Wraith, and its soul energy poured down his throat like fine wine.
>>> 
>>> His hunger sated, Raziel looked around for a Portal. Satisfaction warred with anxiety. It was possible that his gambit had harmed the seraph, and he did not know whether Yahriel would continue to keep her side of the bargain even if her brother was dead. No soul had entered the Spectral Realm, but that did not rule out the possibility that the seraph was dying.
>>> 
>>> A Portal lay at the cave mouth, rippling blue fire. Raziel stepped into the middle and willed himself to manifest. The dank air of the former vampire angel's sanctum surrounded him, stone walls bearing heavily down on the atmosphere. From the shadows, he heard Jehoel groan heavily, then heard the sound of feathers sliding over stone. Raziel approached, and watched the seraph as he hauled himself to his feet. Jehoel was clearly exhausted, and his wingtips trailed behind him on the floor as he walked towards Raziel. He gave Raziel a long look, then bent his bright head and bowed deeply before his rescuer.
>>> 
>>> "My…deepest thanks, reaver-of-souls." Jehoel straightened, and the lines of pain and tiredness etched into his face became clear. "Being possessed by the vampire soul was a fate worse than death. You have my eternal gratitude – and if I am not mistaken, my _irin's_ gratitude as well."
>>> 
>>> Torn between annoyance and gratification, Raziel opted to instead be brusque. "Are you hale enough to leave this place?"
>>> 
>>> "I think so." The seraph flexed his wings; they shook with the effort. "Though I fear that I will have to walk. My wings will not hold me for any stretch."
>>> 
>>> Raziel nodded once, then turned back the way he had came. He didn't care whether he had to carry his charge out on his back; Jehoel was going to be reunited with his sister. He glided over the gap in the rock, glancing back to make sure that the seraph would be able to cross as well. Jehoel unfurled his wings and hopped across, stumbling a little on the landing. Satisfied, Raziel continued on.
>>> 
>>> It would be a long trek down to the base of the mountain, he reflected. But after that, the freedom of flight and the pull of the open skies awaited. With the image of wings fixed firmly in his mind, he began to wend his way down the mountain.
>>> 
>>>   
[][1]

   [1]: fanficarchive.html



	5. A Sense of Impending Wings

> > Chapter 5 
>> 
>> A Sense of Impending Wings 
>> 
>> The light started out faint, a mere suggestion of daylight on the floor of the cave. Raziel saw the faint beam of sun from atop the cliff he'd scaled to reach the seraph who was doggedly following him despite obvious exhaustion. It had been a torture test to lead the seraph back through the tunnels, which were mercifully quiet now. Progress was slow, since his charge was so tired, but Jehoel had borne the long walk without complaint. 
>> 
>> A quick glide to the floor brought them both into the entryway to the cave. Bright feathers trailed in the dust as the seraph trudged along, stumbling. Raziel bit down on his impatience and waited, his emotions betrayed only in one twitching claw. The sunlight became stronger as they walked on, and finally they passed from the sheltering overhang into the dim light of Nosgoth's sun. 
>> 
>> The sun cast a wavery light over the mountains. Unused to such strong illumination, Jehoel shaded his eyes from the light and hunched under his wings for shelter. Raziel looked up at the wan orb; from its position, he guessed that he had been more than half a day in the ancient volcano. Time was wasting. It was time to claim his reward. 
>> 
>> He climbed up the scarp, scanning the basin for Yahriel. A freshening breeze played with his useless wingtips, further deepening his anxiety. The seraph was nowhere to be seen. Anxiety grew quickly into anger, and Raziel slammed the head of his borrowed spear into the rock in fury. The Soul Reaver flared in response, and his eyes blazed pale fire as he howled out, "_Yahriel!_" 
>> 
>> A section of the caldera's wall rippled like a sheet caught in the wind and faded out. When the glamourie faded, Yahriel stood before him, utterly composed. Power rolled from her in waves that seemed to thicken the mountain air. She shook her wings out, as if she had been sitting still for a long time, then fixed him with a level gray gaze. 
>> 
>> "There is no need to shout, Raziel. I knew you were coming back. Watch-wards cannot be dismissed immediately." She smiled, suddenly. "You have brought my brother with you, beaten down though he is at the moment. For this, there is no gratitude deep enough, but one hopes that my efforts will suffice." 
>> 
>> "You took your time in revealing yourself." Raziel's eyes narrowed; he was still cross. 
>> 
>> "The end is the same, is it not?" the seraph replied, archly. Turning away, she picked her way through the rocks to her brother, who was sitting down with his wings awkwardly pitched over his head. She knelt next to him and began speaking softly. In a few moments, Jehoel retracted his wings and sat in the sun while his eyes teared and his body shook. 
>> 
>> With her brother's wings out of the way, Yahriel moved to face her brother. She threw her arms around him in a swift, fierce embrace, then shadowed him with her own wings. She reached out and clasped her brother's shoulders, then bowed her head. Raziel felt the currents of energy shift as the power he had felt coming from Yahriel came to focus itself upon her _irin_. 
>> 
>> Jehoel let out a shaky breath as the bruises and gashes he had sustained in his fight closed. The stream of healing energy from his sister slowed as the last remnants of the vampiric nature Turel had forced upon him were washed away. When it was over, Yahriel stood and helped her brother to his feet. He looked to the open skies with longing, and his desire to be free in the air was evident. 
>> 
>> His voice a whisper, Jehoel breathed, "No walls, and no boundaries… freedom, at last…" 
>> 
>> "Are you well enough to reach the Hold?" asked Yahriel, her voice warm. 
>> 
>> "Well enough. Thank you, sister mine." Jehoel faced Raziel then, and bowed deeply. "Thanks also to you, reaver-of-souls. Fair winds to you." 
>> 
>> Raziel nodded in acknowledgement. Only a single claw tapping on his forearm belied his impatience. 
>> 
>> "Will you fly with me back to the Hold?" Jehoel had directed his attention again to his sister. 
>> 
>> "Not yet. There is the matter of a promise to keep. I will be following you in time. Tell the Archon that I bring Lord Raziel with me." 
>> 
>> "I will." Jehoel's face brightened at the thought of home. "Farewell, Yahri." 
>> 
>> Jehoel spread massive golden wings and caught the air beneath them. Eddies of wind scattered sand as he became airborne. Yahriel watched her brother fly off, his wingbeats steadily strengthening as he winged his way westward. 
>> 
>> Raziel's voice, tightly controlled and richly modulated, cut into her thoughts. "What now, Yahriel? Your story has a happy ending -" here his voice bore the faintest tone of derision - "but mine is not yet finished." 
>> 
>> "Your _patience_ is greatly appreciated." She raised an eyebrow, but forbore to rise to Raziel's bait. "I will keep my word. You will again gain the skies, my word on it. You must trust me, however. Reconstructing your wings will take some thought." The seraph walked towards him, her power only slightly diminished by the healing she had wrought. "It is no small thing to remake flesh and bone." 
>> 
>> Suddenly nervous, Raziel backed up slightly, then cursed himself for it. "What are you going to do?" 
>> 
>> "Easier to do than to say, though I will try to show you." Yahriel eyed his tattered wings, and hesitated. "Your wings - I must see how the bone and ligament was attached. It may not be comfortable, but it is necessary. May I?" 
>> 
>> Tersely, Raziel replied, "You may." He forced himself to stand quietly while the seraph carefully lifted the remnants of his once-proud heritage. The gentle probing of her fingers reminded him all too clearly of the motion of Kain's claws as they ripped the bone from his wings. Memory of the searing pain and the aching sense of loss caused him to shudder slightly from mixed sorrow and fierce rage. 
>> 
>> "Hold still," she admonished, softly. The seraph lightly traced the shriveled patches of skin that had once stretched tightly over bone. He nearly jerked away from her, but managed to suppress the instinct to turn and rend the phantom Kain who had so cruelly torn his evolution from his back. It was not Kain now, it was the silvery angel Yahriel, but Raziel dared not trust her any more than was necessary. 
>> 
>> She broke into his reverie with a warning. "Prepare yourself. Be calm, and all will be well." 
>> 
>> Tendrils of energy wound about his legs and arms, forcing Raziel to stillness. He struggled, fruitlessly, as he was slowly bathed in the same golden glow he had seen Yahriel draw from the felled nephil. His mind screamed out, but his voice remained silent, and the torrent of power continued its inexorable winding about his chest and wings. 
>> 
>> _:Do not fear.:_ The seraph's voice coiled its way into his mind as his vision faded into a blackness that was somehow comforting. _:I will show you what needs to be done, mind-to-mind. It is easier this way, is it not?:_
>> 
>> _:Can you hear me?:_ asked Raziel, wondering. 
>> 
>> _:Yes,:_ she replied. _:Now watch.:_
>> 
>> He felt the seraph draw on blasted Nosgoth to pull from the earth the components of his new wings. Limestone was pulled from layers of sediment and ripped apart, and its components recombined in otherspace to create the lattice of bone. Fascinated, Raziel saw the slender ivory spears coalesce bit by bit, recreating the framework of his wings. Yahriel's magic looped and wove among the fragments, binding them together in a nimbus of light. 
>> 
>> As the fragments became more substantial, new flesh began to form between the angles of bone. Raziel "looked" more closely, and was spun out along the pathway of Yahriel's creation to see where the networks of proteins were spinning themselves into sinew and leathery membrane. New nerves branched out, twining into his spinal cord and reconnecting severed pathways. Through the whole process beat the incessant pulse of her magic, a torrent of silver, so much that he felt suffused with it. It was not an entirely uncomfortable feeling, but it was so alien that it left him clawing for the familiar blackness of his reality. 
>> 
>> :_Enough!:_ he screamed, silently. _:What are you doing to me?:_
>> 
>> _:It is almost done, Raziel.:_ Yahriel's mind-voice pressed down on him, reassuring. _:Soon.:_
>> 
>> Raziel turned his awareness back into himself, unwilling to watch any more. He closed his mind as best he could, and waited in the comforting black for the cessation of magic. 
>> 
>> All at once, it was ended. Light and sensation rushed back into him with such alacrity that he staggered, instinctively reaching out with a claw to steady himself. A new motion came, instinctual, as Raziel dazedly felt his new wings extend just a little to afford him more balance. _My wings…_ he thought, almost delerious. _My wings!_
>> 
>> "Newly fledged, you are." Yahriel solicitously extended a hand in support, and he grabbed for it, quite forgetting his dignity. She neatly evaded the wicked talons and helped him up. The aura of power she had carried with her had faded almost completely, spent in one massive effort. "Careful, now - the binding energies are settling in. They will weave themselves into your spectral form in time." 
>> 
>> The seraph stood back, gravely surveying her work. "Try them. They are sound enough." She smiled slightly, encouraging. 
>> 
>> Unaccustomed to the feeling, Raziel extended one wing. Something was very different about these new wings - they were heavier and stronger than the ones he remembered. Uneasy, he spread the wing out, and gaped at the result. 
>> 
>> Where before his wingtips had just reached past his elbows, they now extended fully down past his calves, nearly to his ankles. The apex of his wings was slightly higher as well, and the claws at the top gleamed. The trailing edge swept elegantly from the newly-made tiers of bone to anchor lower on his back than before. Caught between fear and amazement, he rounded on Yahriel with such force that she stumbled back from him, her wings riffling the air. 
>> 
>> _"What did you do to me?"_ he roared, unconsciously opening his wings to their fullest extent in an instinctive gesture of intimidation. "What is this, seraph? Did you seek to improve on the original design? Was it inferior enough that you dare to deform the remnants of my heritage?" 
>> 
>> Yahriel's own wings mantled, and her face darkened. "Your original wings were not large enough to provide you with the lift to fly from the ground. Look here, doubter." She spread her own pinions, showing a wingspan of over eleven feet. A powerful sweep launched her into the air, just out of reach of the Soul Reaver, which had manifested itself again in response to Raziel's emotion. "From a height, you could well have kept yourself aloft for some time. Did you ever test your wings, Raziel? Did you start from the ground - or did you leap from a height? Think well on it!" 
>> 
>> The memory of his first flight flooded back. He remembered the need to climb, to slip the bounds of Nosgoth's gravity and feel the air under his wings. Remembered teetering precariously from the brink of his balcony, then falling off into the depth of sky, lifted by his new evolution into the dizzying expanse. A cruel jest on the behalf of evolution - or just the first step? 
>> 
>> Yahriel swooped above him, hovering over his head. "Well, then, will you come?" She dove at him, pulling up short to skim over his head. "Do you think I would repay you with false promises?" 
>> 
>> She snarled at him from her superior altitude, furious. "You speak of deformity while you mock my talents. Try them, Raziel! Try your wings and prove me wrong, if you dare!" 
>> 
>> Finally stirred to action, Raziel worked his new wings and let instinct guide him. He worked the framework of bone and membrane forward and backward, feeling the wind curl and pull against it. The vampire closed his eyes for a moment, then gathered himself. Unfurling his wings, he sprang into the air, and his wings caught the skies as naturally as if he had never been earthbound, had never had this glory ripped from his back for reasons still unknown. 
>> 
>> Disbelieving, he watched the ground recede as each wingbeat carried him higher. Raziel looked up to see Yahriel a few wingspans away, her face still hard. He swallowed his pride - a bitter pill, indeed - and spoke. 
>> 
>> "My apologies, lady." He bowed his head, momentarily repentant. "Your work is truly magnificent." And it was. His wings were works of art, aerodynamically sound and aesthetically lovely, painted with subtle shadings of brown, black, and yellow. Exactly like his old wings - but better. 
>> 
>> Mollified, she swung away from him. "We will fly west, where the Archon and my brother await us." The seraph turned back to him, her anger dissipated. "There, I can fill the remainder of my bargain with you - and you can decide whether you wish to aid us. I hope, along with the rest of my kindred, that the terms are sufficient. We need you sorely." 
>> 
>> She rapidly gained altitude, and Raziel followed her. The sensation of flight was so overpowering that it nearly drowned out the corner of his mind that asked about the _rest_ of the bargain. 
>> 
>> It didn't matter. What did matter were the rush of air and the freedom of no longer being earthbound, and the satisfaction of a heritage no longer denied. For the first time since his rebirth at the whim of the Elder, his mind cleared of the thoughts of betrayal and revenge that spurred him. In the unfamiliar absence of hate and rage, another emotion stole into his consciousness, almost unrecognizable. 
>> 
>> It was joy.

  



	6. Flight

> > Chapter 6 
>> 
>> Flight 
>> 
>> A dizzying expanse of sky unfolded before the newly-fledged Raziel as he chased his supplicant and benefactor through the atmosphere. The tang of smoke from faraway fires and the icy breath of the wind curled around him as he swept through the lower atmosphere. The land below was murky, and though some of the pollution his kindred had wrought to protect themselves had faded with time, enough remained for visibility to be restricted below a certain altitude. Every so often a spire of rock thrust high into the air, and he practiced curving around them, too pleased with his new condition to spare thoughts for self-consciousness. 
>> 
>> Yahriel flew nearby, though not close enough that her own pinions would be fouled by an erratic move on the part of a neophyte flyer. She suppressed an almost maternal smile as she watched Raziel's acrobatics out of the corner of her eye. Though she had gained the skies nearly four hundred years ago, she still remembered the first quivering thrill of freedom, and the careless stunts she and her brother had dared each other to do. Though they had nearly been dashed to pieces on the rocks several times, the desire to test their limits had been stronger than any warning from the older seraphim. Mortal children are wont to disregard their parents' warnings, and immortal children are even more so. Yahriel chuckled to herself, and extended a wing to catch a nearby thermal. 
>> 
>> She soared, suddenly, buoyed upward by the upwelling of air. Raziel, startled by her unexpected rise, backwinged in surprise and stared up at her for a moment, then began working his wings furiously to catch up. Repentant, she dove and pulled up near him, not wishing to leave him behind for the sake of showing off. 
>> 
>> "How did you do that?" he asked, and for the first time, his voice held simple curiosity. 
>> 
>> Yahriel thought for a moment, then replied. "Weak as this world's sun is, it still produces enough heat to warm the earth well during the daylight hours. Winds blowing over the heated land will be warmed themselves, and they will rise more quickly. These columns of warm air - we call them "thermals" - will save you much effort if you can find one. Lift with the air rather than under your own power." 
>> 
>> The thermal she had ridden was still spiraling upwards a few yards away. Yahriel hovered at its edge, wings sweeping the air. 
>> 
>> "Care to try? Best to learn when the opportunity presents itself." 
>> 
>> She darted into the air column and extended her wings. The seraph's feathers ruffled as the wind filled her wings, and she swooped upwards without effort. Raziel waited below, hesitant. He dodged around the boundaries of the warm wind, gauging the amount of lift it would provide. Unsure, Raziel had backed off for a moment when a sudden blast of warm air rushed in below his wings and pushed him, all unwilling, into higher reaches of the atmosphere. 
>> 
>> With a startled yelp, the vampire retracted his wings instinctively, which proved to be a mistake. He fell for a few hundred feet before his presence of mind took over and he unfurled his wings with a loud crack. It wasn't quite enough, and Raziel rolled crazily for a moment before gray wings nearly closed around his head and a slender arm caught him around the waist. 
>> 
>> He steadied, and Yahriel let him go and pulled away. Laughter danced in her eyes for a moment, then she regarded him gravely and said, "I had forgotten to tell you that thermals are not entirely stable." 
>> 
>> "You could have told me that _before_ I was lofted into the air like a -- well, like 
>> 
>> a--" 
>> 
>> "Like a what?" she prompted. 
>> 
>> "Like a _feather!"_ Raziel growled, glowering. 
>> 
>> Now she did laugh, but not unkindly. "I apologize, Raziel. I forget that you are as new to flying as you are. But for pity's sake, don't fold your wings unless necessary! Far easier to lose altitude than to need to gain it at the wrong time. Now, shall we try again?" 
>> 
>> Raziel extended his wings again into the briskly rising wind. Forcing himself to remain composed, he arced them out into the warm air and was lifted gently higher. It was just like riding the puffs of air generated by the immense, creaking fans in the Silenced Cathedral that had presumably powered the pipe organs. More confident now, he experimented with the thermal, testing how far he had to fold his wings to drop in a more controlled fashion. Yahriel watched, bemused. Once he had probed the new phenomenon to his satisfaction, he turned his course again to the west. Yahriel followed, lazily soaring on the winds. 
>> 
>> The flight was quiet, the participants lost in their own thoughts. It was not until a particularly majestic mountain peak began to emerge from the gloom that Yahriel intruded upon her companion's silence. 
>> 
>> "Look there, Raziel." She gestured towards the mountaintop. "The Aerie. Home." 
>> 
>> She increased her pace a little, eager to reach it. Raziel fell behind, more interested in surveying the area. Small shapes winging around the peak could be seen faintly – _more seraphim_, he thought. A subtle yellow glow below him caught his eye, and he glanced down to see a tower carved out of the rock set beneath him. He could sense its energy coursing through his bones, eerily sentient. Whatever it was, it had chosen to let him pass. 
>> 
>> Raziel lifted his gaze and saw that Yahriel had nearly outpaced him, and he worked his wings to catch up. As he approached the Aerie, he could see two more towers. They were several miles off, but the air around the seraphic Keep was surprisingly clear, clear enough for him to make out that the tower to his left was glowing slightly red and the one to his right was green. Another thing to ask Yahriel about, when the time came. 
>> 
>> The seraph was angling towards a wide, flat plateau set into the mountain, which was no doubt a landing space for a seraph. She backwinged neatly and gracefully settled onto the balls of her feet, fluttering her wings for balance, then pulled them in to complete the movement. Once earthbound, the angel turned and looked skyward for Raziel, who was still hovering overhead. 
>> 
>> Landing… he had not even considered it. Raziel flew down until he was only a few yards above the platform. He furled his wings just a little, intending to glide gently down like he had done a thousand times before on the tattered shreds of his old wings. It very nearly worked – he was only a few feet above the stone before he stalled midair and fell unceremoniously to the ground. Cursing, Raziel hauled himself up and glowered at the seraph, who was watching the Aerie instead of his unskilled display. 
>> 
>> She looked back at him and said, "I can see that you will need some amount of practice. Do not despair. It will come in time." 
>> 
>> To allay his embarrassment, Raziel busied himself with settling his wings. He was met with frustration there as well, since the large pinions would no longer twist under and settle upon his back, trailing edges upright. Not wishing to watch her companion struggle further, Yahriel approached him. 
>> 
>> "These wings are too large for that tack to be effective. Watch closely." She turned her back to him, and extended her feathers fully. She drew them in slowly, allowing Raziel to watch the mechanics of settling a large wing. 
>> 
>> Raziel groused as he repeated her movements. "I had no idea this was so complicated," he muttered, delicately folding the scaffold of bone and membrane so that it lay close to his back. The wing-claws nearly touched above his head, and he would have to adjust to the dulled sensation of flesh brushing against the back of his calves. Nettled, he resettled his clan-drape and followed Yahriel into the angel keep. 
>> 
>> The vampire's first impression of the Aerie was one of lofty pillars of gold-veined white marble and arching ceilings that would allow a seraph to fly through the corridors as easily as walk. Echoes from the rasp of his claws on the floor ran away into passages leading away from the main hallway. Hints of ethereally lovely singing and the sigh of feathers flickered through the halls. 
>> 
>> Raziel stared for a moment, rapt. The grandeur of these halls equaled the grandeur of the height of Kain's empire at the time of his execution. It brought back memories that had lain dormant since his plunge into the Abyss – thoughts of his Clan and his fortress, and his glory as the firstborn of Kain's sons. He clenched his talons and tried to stifle the centuries-old flood of images. The seraphim had offered a chance at rebirth, and it was time to leave the old behind. 
>> 
>> The seraph's voice intruded on his thoughts, and Raziel looked up. 
>> 
>> "The Archon is waiting for us, Raziel. Please, follow me." 
>> 
>> With a start, he realized that Yahriel had started off without him. Her pace was quick, and Raziel hurried along behind her, still admiring the Aerie. The presence of magical power everywhere set his nerves to humming. The air sang with energy, and he knew that it would not take long for any eldritch energy he spent in glyph spells to be regenerated. 
>> 
>> They hurried through ancient halls, passing intricate tapestries depicting scenes from Nosgoth's past. Their passage was too swift for Raziel to study the weavings, but quick glances at each one left him with a momentary image of Nosgoth's past. He saw the establishment of the Circle of Nine, then the Sarafan purges, then the eventual rise of Kain to prominence. 
>> 
>> There was more history here than he recognized, though, for woven into the threads were depictions of vampire and human living in relative peace, and seraphim walking amongst both. It was a concept that was foreign, since humans were a mere source of food to his kindred, not neighbors. Then came corruption of the Circle, and the subsequent misuse of power. The vampires turned against their human hunters, and the seraphim retreated. There was little time to ponder these revelations, and a rushed glance at a scene of a vampire (_Vorador? Surely not!_) guesting with his hosts before he and the gray-winged seraph came into an enormous vaulted chamber. 
>> 
>> The chamber was immense and magnificent. The floor was inlaid with precious stone and gold in rich, incredible patterns. To Raziel's left and right, the entire Host was massed in an array of wings. As he proceeded into the room, accompanied by Yahriel, he could feel the weight of their regard on his rebuilt wings. A murmur from the Host grew in volume as the two of them walked to the center of the room. Before them, a throne cut from the bones of the mountain rose from the floor. It was worked in silver and gems, and draped with midnight-blue velvet all shot with stars. To its left, a doorway lay shrouded in shadow. Yahriel knelt and held her wings close, waiting. 
>> 
>> Raziel pulled his own wings in, but refused to drop to one knee. The last time he had shown obeisance to a superior, he had been taken unawares and sentenced to this torturous unlife. He returned the stares of the seraphim with his own baleful gaze, refusing to succumb to their unspoken challenge. _You have summoned me,_ he thought, _and now you will accept the demon in your midst._
>> 
>> The low rumbling from the Host took on a new tone. They shifted restlessly, anticipating. The buzz grew to a fever pitch, then dropped off as a figure appeared, silhouetted in the doorway to the left of the throne. A tall angel walked through and spread his wings, commanding the attention of the Host. The room fell to silence. The herald lowered his wings and announced in a resonant voice, "The Archon of the Host, Pistis Sophia!" 
>> 
>> The angel moved aside and bowed his head in respect. With a sigh, the remainder of the Host mimicked his movements, and waited for the Archon to appear. All attention, Raziel's included, was focused on the throne. The hangings at the doorway swept aside, and the Archon herself walked through, her pace stately and measured. 
>> 
>> A mortal human might have guessed the Archon to be in late middle age, but the strength of her presence and the power she radiated indicated to Raziel that she was much, much older, perhaps older than Kain. Only a thin circlet of gold and precious stones set on her iron-gray hair betrayed the Archon's rank, yet the violet eyes held the depth of command that marked an extraordinary leader. Her wings were purple, edged with black. She settled them as she ascended her throne, turning to face her people as she reached the top. 
>> 
>> Stillness hung in the air, like the calm before the storm. Then the Archon's voice broke through the quiet hall, calm and powerful. 
>> 
>> "Be welcome, Lord Raziel, to my halls and to our ranks. Nosgoth's fate, and ours, hangs in the balance with your fate, reaver-of-souls. You are the salvation for a corrupted land, and our hope." 
>> 
>> The Archon bowed, drawing a collective gasp from the gathering of angels. A reigning monarch only showed deference to another monarch, and her respectful obeisance meant that she was recognizing Raziel, not Kain, as the ruling power in Nosgoth. Caught off guard, Raziel choked back his surprise and lowered his own head. He straightened up quickly as the Archon began to speak again. 
>> 
>> "As the Wheel of Time has slowed, so have the threads of life that sustain us. Though its effects will be cataclysmic, the Wheel must turn again. The Elder knows this; Moebius knows this; and Kain knows this. Each seeks to steer the course of Nosgoth's future to his own ends. We have no desire for power, Lord Raziel. We only wish to survive. 
>> 
>> "To this end, I offer you alliance. I offer you our might and our magecraft, but most of all, our knowledge. The Purges deprived your race of its Elders, and you know little of Nosgoth before the rise of Kain. We see all, and we remember." 
>> 
>> Raziel was silent, considering. Her offer was nothing short of incredible, since the seraphim as a race did not take part in the daily struggles of earthbound Nosgoth. How dearly this attitude had cost them! Noninterference had encouraged the Sarafan purges, which in turn paved the way for Kain's vengeance. Turning a blind eye to the struggles of the earth below had brought them to their knees in the end. It was a supreme irony that he was sure Kain would have loved. 
>> 
>> His quest was vengeance, not the salvation of an arrogant race. There was some part of him that argued that the lofty seraphim had gotten what they deserved. The Archon's offer had merit, though. The idea of an army at his back was not easily dismissed, and seraphic knowledge could keep him from repeating his master's mistakes. 
>> 
>> The Host waited. Raziel felt their desperation pouring over him like a tidal wave, and he laughed, silently. Such irony, and such power to know that the fate of an entire race depended on his simple whim… 
>> 
>> Still, he had no desire to condemn the seraphim to obscurity. His mind was made up. Raziel glanced over at Yahriel, who was still kneeling motionless on the floor, then lifted his gaze back to the Archon. The balance of power in Nosgoth was about to take a most unexpected turn. 
>> 
>> "I accept."   
  
  
  



	7. Restoration of the Fallen

> > Chapter 7
>> 
>> Restoration of the Fallen
>> 
>>   
  

>> 
>> "I accept." With those two words, Raziel had secured the loyalty and the might of the legendary seraphim, who were now bound by word and bond to follow him once he had dispatched his elusive brother Turel. A shout of acclaim went up from the massed Host, and Raziel basked in the heady sensation of restored power. Once the last echoes of the Host's acceptance had died away, the Archon turned as if to leave her dais and retire. Yahriel's voice, tired but strong, broke through the silence to add yet another boon to the bargain – a boon that Raziel had nearly forgotten. 
>> 
>> "There is yet another matter to discuss," she said, rising from the floor. "I promised two things to Lord Raziel for the rescue of my brother. First, his wings; and second, his body. I know the consequences and I am prepared to do what is necessary to fulfill my part." 
>> 
>> The Archon lifted an eyebrow, surprised. "You have offered to rebuild his flesh and bone? This will require some portion of _anima_, and it is doubtful that anyone here in the Host will offer it willingly. I can only assume that you mean to part with a portion of yours. You know the costs, and the costs to Raziel?" 
>> 
>> "I do." 
>> 
>> "You also know that a working of this magnitude will require a channel, since it will drain you of all your resources?" 
>> 
>> Yahriel's face remained set. "I do. That is why I came back here, to the center of our power. This is not possible anywhere else." 
>> 
>> The Archon stood immobile, though Raziel could swear that he saw a twitch of humor pull at her mouth. "And who will stand for you as a channel, Yahriel?" 
>> 
>> "One had hoped that you would." 
>> 
>> "Indeed." The Archon shook her head, exasperated. "As you say, one hopes that one will learn from making promises that involve the capitulation of others. Very well, then. I am not the one who will need to recover from this. Raziel, what say you?" 
>> 
>> Raziel looked down at the ruined flesh that served him as a body. It served the purpose of transporting his will from one place to another, but he had not forgotten the disgrace of awakening to his new existence in the Elder's chamber. This process of restoration did not sound pleasant for his benefactor – if she were so foolish as to offer it, far be it from him to refuse. As for consequences – well. Great though the powers of the seraphim were, Raziel doubted that they could undo the work of the Elder God. 
>> 
>> "As you will, so is my wish." He steeled himself, remembering the touch of Yahriel's magic. 
>> 
>> The Archon lifted her hands, and they began to shine with energy. "This will not be pleasant for you either, Raziel. I am sorry, but there is no helping it." She gestured towards him, and he was suffused with light. He tried to move away, and found himself held fast to the floor, completely helpless. The diffuse light grew into a blaze, and if Raziel had been disturbed by the invasive touch of Yahriel's magic alone, he was altogether laid bare before the Archon. He looked helplessly over to Yahriel, who was held fast in the same flux of energy that held him. 
>> 
>> As he watched, she was lifted from the floor, bathed in light. A misty silver glow rose from her body and hung before her, coruscating. A tiny piece of the silver light separated itself from the main mass, and Yahriel screamed, throwing her head back as if in mortal agony. At once, the major portion of silver glow reverted back to her, and she collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap of wings and armor. The small sphere of silver that remained stayed balanced in the air, shedding sparks. Under the Archon's command, it streaked across the floor and stopped before him. Raziel's eyes widened, but he could do nothing. The Archon lifted him from the floor, and the sphere of light spread itself out into a mist and wove itself into his remaining flesh and bone. 
>> 
>> At first, he felt nothing. The network of nerves that the Abyss had left him only acted to move his limbs, not to register great amounts of sensation. Raziel relaxed; perhaps the Archon's warning applied to living creatures, not undead ones. He glanced down at his claws, fascinated; tiny gray threads were winding through his flesh like worms. 
>> 
>> The first wave of pain caught Raziel completely unawares. He looked at his claws again and saw the muscle tissue begin to revivify. The color of his flesh began to change from blue to red, and he could swear that the layers of muscle were getting thicker. His unease grew as memories of burning in the Abyss stirred. Another wave of pain rocked him, and he steeled himself and tried not to scream. 
>> 
>> Very soon, all the resolve in the world could not keep him from writhing in agony. The Archon's magic was working on him with a vengeance now, and as his new body built itself in layers, so did the pain of her working redouble in on itself. Visions of the torture of the Abyss racked Raziel's brain, and he was no longer certain what was real and what were the ghosts of his past. Dimly, he was aware that he was still screaming, and that he had lungs to scream with. The torture was unbearable, and hallucinations of his execution crazed him – Kain ripping his wings from his back, then the unspeakable pain that followed. As the working reached a crescendo, Raziel slipped into delirium. It was a mercy, for madness was very close. 
>> 
>> The light suddenly released him, and he dropped to the ground. The tattered clan-drape hung from shoulders that were healed and perfect. Through a fevered haze, Raziel felt himself lifted from the floor and wrapped in a warming cloth. He tried to struggle, but it was a feeble effort. His last awareness was of being carried through the halls of the Aerie before darkness finally claimed him and he slept. 
>> 
>> *** 
>> 
>> How long Raziel lay in fevered dreaming, he would never know. In time, the nightmares of burning in the Abyss gave way to a deep and restful blackness. He had vague memories of seraphim tending him as he recovered, but Yahriel was not one of them. 
>> 
>> Full consciousness returned, and Raziel woke to a dim room somewhere in the Aerie. He sat up slowly, blinking. The sensation of being restored to flesh was alien after his time at the bottom of the Lake of the Dead and his subsequent resurrection. Raziel untangled his arms from the bed linens that covered him and held them out in front of him, turning them up and down to inspect the new skin and bone. Someone had removed what remained of his gauntlets, and the yellowed color of his claws stood in light contrast to the dead-pale skin. 
>> 
>> Raziel flexed his claws, testing. His new body felt as strong as his former one had, yet it did not sit quite right – almost as if he were wearing it like clothing. Curious, he dragged one claw across the inner skin of his wrist to open a fine cut, and a thin trickle of blood ran from it before the wound closed without a trace. His vampiric ability to self-heal seemed to have reasserted itself. But was he still a reaver of souls? 
>> 
>> The remade vampire was startled from his thoughts by a knock at the door. Raziel bared his teeth and mantled his wings, but before he could snarl at the unknown visitor to leave, his door opened and Yahriel stepped inside, carrying a large bundle. She recoiled slightly before his show of anger, but stood her ground. 
>> 
>> "A fearsome sight, you are," she said, laying her package on a chair. Raziel regarded her through narrowed eyes, noting the subtle mark of aging in her face. The gift of her _anima_ had not left her untouched. "Are you feeling better?" 
>> 
>> "Well enough." Raziel's reply was terse, cross. Some sense of politeness moved him to add, "And you?" 
>> 
>> "I fear that I was no better off than you were for a time, but here at the heart of the Host's power, my recovery was steady." A small, ironic smile twisted a corner of her mouth. "Thank you for your concern. Are you well enough to get up and walk?" 
>> 
>> He didn't know. Raziel swung one foot to the floor and tested his weight. As he moved, the bedcovers slid away from him, leaving more exposed than he had intended. He snatched the linens and pulled them around himself, cursing. Once he had composed himself, Raziel glared up at Yahriel, who was studying the tips of her toes as if they were the most interesting things in the world. 
>> 
>> Not wishing to prolong his embarrassment, Yahriel spoke quickly. "The Archon asks for your presence as soon as you can join her. I have left some things of yours here for you. One hopes they will be to your liking." A faint blush stained her cheeks as she turned to leave. 
>> 
>> Once the door was shut securely, Raziel loosened his grip on the sheets and stood up. He looked around his new quarters, getting his bearings. Aside from the large, comfortable bed, there was a small dresser, a table and chairs, and a mirror. A door near the dresser opened into a closet, where various pieces of clothing hung. Bemused; Raziel pulled out a shirt, which was cunningly designed to fit around a pair of wings. He put the shirt back in place and started looking through the dresser. The drawers were empty, but a coffer on top of the dresser contained a sparkling array of jewels. He had no need for such fripperies, but the gems inside would have done a royal family proud. One spectacular ruby ring, sized for a large finger, caught his eye for a moment, but in the end he closed the lid and took nothing. 
>> 
>> Next to his bed, an alcove was shrouded in drapes. Raziel walked over to the drapes and pulled them away to reveal a pair of barred doors leading to a balcony. The stained glass set into the wood felt like it had been witched, and he wondered why. He put one hand up against the doors, and felt them shudder slightly as they held against the mountain winds. Ordinary glass would not have lasted long up here. 
>> 
>> He slid the latch back and opened the steel-reinforced door. The wind screamed outside, but it did not ruffle the drapes. Odd. Raziel stepped out onto the little balcony, lifting his wings. Once across the threshold, the wind hit him like a blast, and he quickly ducked back inside. There was some kind of barrier protecting the walls of the Aerie, which made sense – easy access to the air without having to worry about the weather. Raziel closed the doors and slid the bars back into place. 
>> 
>> Another door was cut into the wall across from his bed, and this one opened into a small bathing pool. A small array of unguents was laid out for him, consisting of soaps and the like. Raziel folded his arms and gave a snort of derision. Imagine, having to bathe. In his former embodied existence, bathing was unnecessary. Since the touch of water was anathema, Kain had come up with a spell that repelled dirt, and every vampire used it as soon as their magical abilities manifested. Raziel remembered his former master glowering over having to create a spell so mundane, but even Kain didn't like being covered in muck. Out of curiosity, he poked through the assortment of toiletries to find a brush and a few thin leather ties, and those he picked up. 
>> 
>> His exploration of his new quarters concluded, Raziel turned his attention to the bundle Yahriel had brought him. He laid the package on his bed and untied the wrappings. Inside, neatly folded, were exact replicas of the clan garb he and his brothers had worn. Interesting that the seraphim should be so well-informed about what Kain's lieutenants wore. Raziel lifted out a new pair of gauntlets and metal-armored boots and laid them on the floor. Beneath them was a set of leathers, deep black and beautifully tanned. Pleased, Raziel donned his new pants and shoulder-armor before some other angel could walk in on him. The gauntlets and boots fit precisely, squeaking a bit with newness. 
>> 
>> There was one more item at the bottom of the bundle. Raziel reached inside and pulled out the bright red cloth of his old clan-drape. It was the same one he had always worn, but it had been mended with great care and cleaned. He fit the drape to the catches on his shoulder-armor, and it unfurled to his waist just as it had always done. Raziel arranged the fabric so it lay between his wing and his back, not wanting it to interfere with flight 
>> 
>> He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror – how _had_ the humans come up with that silly myth about reflections, anyway – and snarled, just for effect. His reflection snarled back at him, a terrifying sight. Satisfied, Raziel neatly bound his hair back. Even an angel of death yields to sartorial comforts sometimes, and for the moment his vengeance could wait. 
>> 
>> Enough, then. Raziel flexed his claws and threw his shoulders back. Time was wasting, and the Archon was waiting.


	8. Before the Archon

Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Before the Archon**

The seraphic guard assigned to guide Raziel to the Archon's audience chambers was more than a little unsettled by his charge as he led the newly-embodied vampire through the halls of the Aerie. It was true that his people had bargained dearly with this vampire lord to save themselves, but he had not expected the vampire to be so feral. The yellow eyes glinting in the shadows reminded him of a hungry predator watching its prey, waiting for a kill, and the long talons only reinforced the impression. Shivering inwardly, the guard showed Raziel to the Archon's chambers, and bowed politely. 

Once the vampire had been summoned inside, the guard breathed a sigh of relief and shook himself all over. He was no coward, but the aura of the vampire lord was thick with anger and the need for revenge, and it was unnerving. The guard fluffed his wings to ward off a nonexistent chill, then hurried off down the hallway. His duty had been discharged, and he felt lucky to have retained all his wingfeathers in the process. 

Raziel, himself, was no less unsettled than his guide. The initial euphoria of finding himself whole had worn off during his journey to see the Archon, and he felt less and less sure that he had not just walked into a fool's bargain. Though Raziel was hardly satisfied with his post-Abyss existence, there were certain powers he had come to take for granted since his resurrection. He had not tried shifting into the Spectral Realm, nor had he tried summoning the Soul Reaver. His mind seethed with questions as he entered the Archon's chamber. 

The Archon was waiting for him, seated on a throne that was hardly more than an elaborate chair. The room was not as grand as the great hall where he had met her for the first time, but it was still opulent. The stone floor was covered with thick rugs, and ornate tapestries lined the walls. 

Upon seeing Raziel, the Archon stood up and bowed to him once more, smiling. "You have many questions, I know. I hope to provide you with the answers." Before he could respond, she gestured towards an arched door near her throne. "This room has never been a favorite of mine. It is too grand for a decent conversation. Would you care to join me in my solar?" 

"As you wish," said Raziel. He followed her into the smaller room, which was indeed less imposing. It was day, and light streamed through stained glass windows to make colorful patterns on the simple wood floor. A few mage-lights set in sconces threw their witchy light over the contents of the room: a few comfortable chairs designed to accommodate wings; a desk overflowing with quills, parchment, and magical oddments; and books piled everywhere. 

Raziel chose a chair at random and sat down. The Archon seated herself across from him, draping her wings across the back of her chair. The air was thick with tension. Finally, Raziel could stand it no more and blurted out, "What has happened to me?" 

"I was wondering when you would ask." The Archon smoothed her skirts, considering. "No small amount of magic went into that body you wear, and it is very important that you understand the ramifications of your embodiment. Tell me true – what exactly is bothering you?" 

"What did you do to create my flesh? What was the light that Yahriel gave to me?" Suddenly disturbed, Raziel stood up and tried to summon the Soul Reaver, and nothing happened. He tried again – nothing. _"And where is my sword?"_ he shouted, voice shaking the walls. 

"Calm down. I will explain," said the Archon, trying to soothe him. She picked up a long, scabbarded sword from her desk and handed it to Raziel, who snatched it out of her hands. Disbelieving, he grasped the unfamiliar skull hilt and pulled the sword from its sheath. The blade slid free, but it was not a normal blade – from the hilt upwards, the familiar wraithen fire of the Soul Reaver blazed. He slid the tip into the scabbard, and it glided back into place. 

"What did you _do?_" snarled Raziel, spreading his wings and knocking over a small table. He raised his claws into a fighting stance, menacing the Archon. "Kain broke this very blade over my back. The Elder God told me that this sword was now my symbiotic weapon – it was a part of my very self. Why have you separated it from me? Do you hope to take it for yourselves?" Consumed with rage, he pulled the sword from its sheath and raised it over his head to strike at his benefactor. 

"Put away the sword, Raziel." The Archon spoke coldly. "Your weapon still reflects you in the most basic of ways, as I will explain." She glared at him, unafraid. "Sit. You will learn nothing if you strike me down, and there is little you can do to touch me. Sit _down._" 

The force of her command compelled him against his will to drop back into the chair. Raziel continued to bare his teeth at her, unrepentant. 

"Oh, do stop it." The Archon waved a hand in dismissal. "Leering at me like an angry wolf is most uncivilized. Vorador never behaved that way." 

"Vorador? He walked among you?" Raziel's anger was replaced at once with astonishment. 

"He did indeed. Vampires and seraphim were not always at odds." A flash of sorrow crossed her face. "I grieved when I learned of his death at Moebius' hands. It gives me great satisfaction to meddle with that deceiver's plans. If you take nothing else from this place, Raziel, remember that Moebius looks after his own ambitions first." 

"I will remember, do not doubt it. Kain showed me that even brotherhood is not sacred." 

"Good." The Archon leaned back in her chair. "Before we begin, perhaps you would care for some refreshment?" In an eyeblink, the table he had upset righted itself and two cups appeared on it. The first shed bits of green energy over its rim – soul substance. The second felt warm to the touch, as warm as blood. Raziel raised it to his lips to taste. The familiar coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, darkly pleasant. He did not ask where it had come from. 

"My thanks, my lady." He gave her a bloody smile. 

"One is glad that our efforts please. Vorador never faulted our hospitality." The Archon conjured up a glass of wine for herself and drank, then set the cup aside. 

"Now – your first question. What has happened to you? It is simple, as many of the most powerful things are. Yahriel promised you the boon of a new body, and she provided both the energy to reconstruct you and the means to reanimate the new flesh. The light you saw was a small piece of her _anima_. Perhaps you would call it a soul, though it is more than that among seraphim. In short, she gave you a piece of her life. 

"She did not have to give you much. You already enjoy some degree of unlife that was gifted to you by the Elder. Yahriel's anima was grafted onto your existing body and soul, and it provided the scaffold for the new fleshly body you inhabit. Still, to some small degree you are alive, and a part of the physical realm. Your sword also bears a portion of her gift, since it is no longer fully spectral; it is marginally bound here just as you are. You are both half-wraith, half-solid." The Archon paused to drink from her cup again. 

"What effect will this have on my ability to enter the Spectral Realm?" asked Raziel. "Can I still travel through that medium?" 

"I think so, though I admit I am not sure. It is certain, however, that you will not retain your present form there." 

"Yahriel said that the binding energies from her workings on my wings would weave themselves into my spectral form in time. Do you imply that there is no truth to her words?" 

The Archon raised an eyebrow. "I imply nothing, but one would do well to remember that neither of us has ever done anything like this. Yahriel tells you what she thinks will happen. Whether it will happen or not is a matter for speculation. Perhaps you should try shifting." 

"Perhaps." Raziel stood up, and called the Shift Glyph into his mind. At once, the scene dissolved into the muted blues and greens of the Spectral Realm. He looked down at himself, and saw the familiar gaunt scarecrow he had been before his restoration. Everything was the same – tattered wings, withered flesh, ragged clothing. _That answers that question,_ he thought to himself. 

By design or by coincidence, the Archon's private chamber contained a Shift Gate. Raziel willed himself back into being, and was hugely relieved to see that his clothes traveled with him. 

"Interesting." The Archon's violet eyes studied him. "What did you find out?" 

"Your magic does not affect me while I am a part of the Spectral Realm, at least for the time being," replied Raziel. He settled back into his chair and drank this time of the soul-stuff. Bemused, he wondered how his hosts had managed to bind the energy into a chalice. It didn't matter. 

"Have you anything more you wish to know, Lord Raziel?" The Archon has risen from her chair, and looked as though she were about to leave. 

"Not for the moment, Archon, no." 

"'Sophia' will do. A bit of familiarity among equals, yes?" She looked at him conspiratorially. 

Raziel nodded. "Indeed." 

"If it pleases, I would like to show you the Aerie and some of the lands we inhabit. It is important that you understand what we have offered you with our alliance, and what our escape from Kain's devastation means for Nosgoth. I imagine that you would welcome the chance to stretch your new wings, so if you will give me a moment, we will survey my holdings in flight." 

"Certainly," replied Raziel. "I would most like to know how your presence here in Nosgoth has gone untouched by our kindred for so long. Perhaps there is something to be learned for future empires." 

"Yes, well, you shall see. Pardon me – it is necessary that I change these skirts for something more suitable for flying." She left the room, and Raziel heard a lock click a few moments later. Alone for the moment, he picked up the sword-belt for the Soul Reaver and buckled it around his waist. Idly, he riffled through one of the books on the Archon's desk, mindful of his claws. The book was written in Nosgothic bloodscript, favored by the vampires and mages in Vorador's time. 

He had just become absorbed in a history about a vampire who would have been elder to Vorador when the Archon's door opened. She was dressed in snug leathers, which were far more practical. When the Archon saw him reading, she laughed a little. 

"Now, you see what might well be our greatest gift to you - Nosgoth's forgotten history. Kain was never much for learning, from what I understand." She craned her neck to look at the book. "Ah. Borjuni's text. I'm rather fond of that one." 

Raziel closed the old tome with care and placed it back where he had found it. "Shall we go, then?" 

"We shall." The Archon opened another door, which led to a balcony. She stepped outside, flexed her wings twice, then leapt off. Raziel followed, closing the door behind him. The Archon hovered a short distance from the stone lip, waiting. He spread his wings to catch the wind, and was airborne. 


	9. The Lands of the Host

Chapter 9

> > Chapter 9 
>> 
>> The Lands of the Host   
  
  

>> 
>> Flying was truly a wonder and a gift, Raziel reflected, as he winged his way after the Archon. They were circling the great mountain that served as the home of the seraphim, on their way to the rest of the angels' domain. Though ragged wisps of cloud obscured his vision from time to time, the deep violet of his guide's wings stood out clearly, and she was easy to follow. 
>> 
>> They rounded a corner and swooped over a crag, and the mountain fell away into a valley. At the sight, Raziel was so startled that he pulled up short for a moment – unlike most of ruined Nosgoth, the valley was lush and green as far as the eye could see. _So this is what Nosgoth looked like before Kain refused the sacrifice_, thought Raziel, fascinated. When he was a fledgling, Nosgoth was already showing signs of strain from Imbalance, and the land was sickly. This valley was untouched and unspoiled. 
>> 
>> The Archon was steadily flying towards a faraway structure that shone with a dim red light. He remembered seeing it on his first flight to the Aerie, and he quickened the strokes of his wings to catch up. The trees – _trees!_ – blurred beneath him, and wind streamed past his ears and riffled his hair. Their pace was swift, and before long, the tower loomed large in Raziel's vision. The red glow was still dim, but he could feel a low, strong pulse of magic running from this place like a river. 
>> 
>> The tower itself was not remarkable at first sight. It was stone, of course; square-shaped, with a lower rim guarded by crenellations. A walkway ran beneath the rim, and the tower rose past it for several feet. As they drew closer, Raziel craned his neck to look at the top; it appeared that the seraphim had decorated their tower with a beautifully carved dragon. He winged a little closer to have a look. 
>> 
>> The statue suddenly picked up its head and hissed at him. Raziel nearly fell out of the air – dragons? In _Nosgoth?_ Unbelieveable. He backwinged to give the creature some space. It was obviously agitated, flexing its wings and switching its forked tail. He nearly fell out of the air again as he saw the Archon land perilously near the dragon, as if she had done it a thousand times. Raziel could hear her shouting at the beast, and it was looking at her, seeming to respond to whatever he was saying. Using the tower itself as a buffer, he flew nearer to the Archon to overhear whatever she was saying. 
>> 
>> "Leave off! He is not a threat to us; he has come to help." A draconic snort. "Do you think I'd have a vampire with me if I felt he was a threat to us?" Fire gouted to Raziel's left, and despite himself, he flinched. "Behave yourself. The vampire lord is my ally, and therefore yours as well." The dragon rumbled, and he heard it resettle itself on top of the tower. 
>> 
>> The Archon turned around, and saw Raziel peering around the corner. "There you are! Come inside the tower before _she_" – the Archon jerked her head towards the looming presence above them – "changes her mind." Raziel landed on the walkway, and a large red-black head dipped down to look at him. A wisp of smoke wafted from one nostril, and the dragon narrowed her eyes and banged her tail on the side of the tower as if to emphasize that she did not approve one bit of this visitor. He ducked inside after the Archon. 
>> 
>> "Dragon?" he hissed, disturbed. "What is a dragon doing here in Nosgoth?" 
>> 
>> The Archon gave a small laugh. "Since our borders are well-protected, I fear that our territories have become something of Nosgoth's wildlife refuge. We did not think there were dragons here either, but there are; they are just very secretive. This one, our large guest, spends her time basking in the energy of this tower." 
>> 
>> "She? How can you tell it's a she? Did you _look_?" 
>> 
>> The Archon burst out laughing. "No, we did not, but when a dragon raises an egg on your tower, one is quite certain that _it_ is a _she_. She was attracted to the steady supply of magic, and she chose this tower for her nest. While the kit dragon was still a hatchling, the mother was a nuisance, and the seraphim who frequent this area often left with singed feathers. Fortunately for us, she is no less protective of her young than any other female, and she torched an advance party of nephilim that Turel had sent. After that, we let her stay." The Archon sighed. "But I am afraid she is none too fond of vampires. There is not much space left for the remainder of Nosgoth's magical races." 
>> 
>> "There are more races?" Raziel stopped for a moment, considering. "Kain shaped this world for vampires, and I had assumed that his personal war concerned the humans who persecuted our kindred. Did he target anything that was not a vampire?" 
>> 
>> "We do not know." The Archon shook her head. "All the magical races tap the energies of Nosgoth; some more than others. This is the only place where some magic still flows freely. When Kain stopped the Wheel of Time, he stopped the flow of magic throughout the land as well. It is possible that he did not know the consequences of his actions." 
>> 
>> "And the seraphim tap this magic more than most, perhaps." Raziel raised an eyebrow. "I begin to see the crux of your problem." He looked around at the interior of the tower – it was as nondescript inside as it was outside. "What is this place?" 
>> 
>> "This, prosaic as it sounds, is the Tower of Fire. We use the same elemental magic as you draw on for your glyphs to encircle and guard our lands." The Archon began walking, and motioned for Raziel to follow. "These four towers stand as anchors. They define the limits of the Host's territory. Outside the range of our magic, Nosgoth stands as you know it." 
>> 
>> She led him up a flight of stairs and past a detachment of seraphic guards. Shimmering, fiery light coruscated within the chamber they guarded. They entered the small chamber, and Raziel's sensitive eyes smarted from the brilliant light. He shielded his eyes and turned his face away. The Archon, seeing his discomfort, spoke a few words and the glare dropped to a tolerable level. 
>> 
>> "Thank you." Raziel breathed a sigh of relief. 
>> 
>> "My apologies. You are a creature of the night, after all." 
>> 
>> Raziel looked around at the chamber, then asked, "Where are we now?" The light that had so bothered him came from a pedestal in the center of the room. He could just make out a red orb cradled in the stone in the center of the brilliance. He closed his eyes for a moment, and fire filled his head – he could smell the smoke from a thousand fires and hear the roar of flame as it consumed all. Fire danced in his blood, and the pulse of magma beneath his feet pounded like a heart. Raziel opened his eyes again, dazzled. The Fire Glyph was singing in his brain, as if it were sentient and knew it had come home. 
>> 
>> "This is the heart of the tower." The Archon spoke, breaking the spell. "One might call the stone the Heart of Fire, I suppose. All seraphim who can tap the power of Fire call their energy from here." 
>> 
>> "You seem most proficient in elemental magics," said Raziel. "Can all of your number summon Fire from this source? I feel that my own Glyph energies would strike all Nosgoth ablaze if I cast my spells from here." He stretched out a claw, and tendrils of flame wreathed his talons for a moment. "For that matter, does all the elemental energy in Nosgoth spring from this source?" 
>> 
>> "No," the Archon replied. "It does not. Come, we have three other Towers to visit, and time is wasting. At sunset, the Host will gather, and you will come to understand why the loss of our numbers becomes more and more damaging. I will explain as we fly." 
>> 
>> Magic was very malleable, Raziel learned. It did not spring from Nosgoth's heart in great streams of four elements, but that was how the seraphim chose to define it. Many other workers of magic chose to shape Nosgoth's energy the same way because it was convenient – stable, understandable, balanced, and symbolic. All seraphim were born with some degree of magical ability, coupled with a particular affinity for one or more elements. Most had a major talent in one quarter with a minor talent in another; a few had major talents in two. Rarer still were talents in three quarters; and a select few could tap all four. 
>> 
>> The Archon, he found, was one of these elite mages; it had enabled her rise to power after centuries of wandering leadership by the previous Archon. Turel drove the seraphim out of their territories while the former Archon dithered; in desperation, Pistis Sophia and a company of sympathizers sought to overthrow him. In a magical duel, she'd broken her predecessor's magic, and then she'd broken his neck. After assuming power, Sophia had driven Turel back and established the curtain wall around the Host's lands, but at a price to her people. 
>> 
>> The barrier the Archon created drew its energy from the four Towers, but a portion of the magic from the entire Host was required to maintain it. Every time a seraph died, the barrier became weaker, and more magic from the remaining seraphim was required to keep it intact. This, in turn, became more of a drain upon their already-taxed resources. 
>> 
>> When a seraph dies, she told him, all the spells that he or she has cast unmake themselves. This was her reason for anchoring the curtain wall to the entire Host instead of shouldering the entire burden herself. If the Archon died, then her people would be left entirely unprotected. At first, the drain of magic had been negligible, but as the angels' numbers dwindled, the Archon bent her resources to eliminating the problem. Hence, her summons to Raziel. 
>> 
>> She finished telling the vampire lord her story as they left the yellow-lit Tower of Air. He wanted to ask her why the seraphim had not been able to increase their numbers, but the wind blew the words from his mouth. The Archon was flying faster than she had before toward a massive level plain in the distance, and Raziel stretched his wings to keep up. He saw multiple winged forms convening on the plain from all directions, and he surmised that something momentous was about to happen. A few minutes later, Raziel crossed the lip of the mesa and landed not far from the Archon. 
>> 
>> The Host was gathering, one pair of wings at a time. They arranged themselves in a loose semicircle around their leader, whispering among themselves and rustling varicolored wings. Some spared curious glances at Raziel. Raziel saw Yahriel arrive, followed closely by her twin, and they spared him a glance and a friendly nod before turning their attention to the front. Dozens more of their compatriots landed over the next few minutes and finally the last laggard seraph hurried in. The Archon seemed to know when the roster was complete, and she began to speak. 
>> 
>> "Greetings to the Host Arelim. We gather again to mourn our fallen brethren – Kochab, Sahiviel, Medan, and Iameth. They will not be forgotten." She inclined her head in homage, and the Host did likewise. Faint lamentations reached Raziel's ears. "Yet we are not without hope – the Soul Reaver Raziel has agreed to help us rid our lands of Turel. Perhaps, in time, he will also unmake the damage Kain has done to the Balance of Nosgoth and save what is left of our race. Until then, I must ask you again to help me bear the burden of our protection, and renew the shield that sustains us." 
>> 
>> The Host murmured assent. The Archon sighed, and slowly spread her wings above her head. A thrumming began, more felt than heard, as she summoned the magic necessary for the working. Visible streams of light from her people flowed to her like water, and she gathered it to herself like a magnet. Raziel watched, fascinated, as spirals of energy gathered around the Archon, and soon she grew too bright to look at. He shielded his eyes, squinting against the brightness. The angel burned like a miniature sun, radiant with magic. 
>> 
>> At once, the magic exploded upwards in a blazing fountain into the sky overhead. It struck some invisible point and divided into four streams; red, yellow, green, and blue. Each raced downward along the curve of an unseen dome to strike its respective Tower. The Towers, in turn, sent bolts of colored light skimming along the curve to close the great circle they anchored. The dome overhead shone intact for one brilliant moment, then faded. 
>> 
>> The Archon staggered, completely spent. Some of the seraphim, released from thrall, fell to their knees in exhaustion. It was long minutes before the weary could stand and stretch their wings to fly. The oncoming twilight was punctuated by tired wingbeats headed home to the Aerie. While her people left, the Archon stood motionless, wrapped in her wings. Finally, she folded her wings back, and called to a splendid dark angel who was watching her with a protective, concerned air. 
>> 
>> "Nakir. Please attend us, if you will," she said, beckoning. 
>> 
>> "As you will, my lady," he replied. Raziel sized up their new companion – Nakir was a tall, powerful seraph, dark as night with startling, brilliant gold eyes. His wings were subtly barred with gold, echoing his coloration. "What is it you wish?" 
>> 
>> "Nakir, this is Lord Raziel, the reaver-of-souls who has come to help rid us of Turel." 
>> 
>> The dark angel bowed. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Raziel." 
>> 
>> Suspicious, Raziel offered a wary greeting and stood back. Something was going on, and he was not sure he would like it. 
>> 
>> The Archon refused to let him get away so easily. "Nakir, Lord Raziel is in need of training in aerial combat. I felt that your warriors were the most skilled, and he will receive no less than the best from us while he is our guest." 
>> 
>> "_Training_?" Raziel hissed, breaking in. "This is an insult! I have been a warrior for a millennium, and I have no further need of combat training! I am no ignorant fledgling!" 
>> 
>> "You are not inexperienced, but you certainly are a fledgling as far as wings are concerned," the Archon remarked wryly. "How long have you been winged – a few weeks? Your landings are imprecise and you need more practice in adverse wind conditions." 
>> 
>> Raziel glowered. He remembered all too well the embarrassing moment where he had stalled midair in front of Yahriel. He did not care to repeat it. 
>> 
>> "I do _not_ need to be taught how to fight," he growled, through clenched teeth. 
>> 
>> "No, but you do need to be taught how to adapt your style to midair," she retorted. "There is no better teacher than my most trusted general. I cannot force you to do this, but I do feel it is necessary." 
>> 
>> "I will…consider it," Raziel said, grudgingly. 
>> 
>> "Good." The Archon looked tired. "I need rest. We will meet again later." She wearily walked to the edge of the plateau and launched herself off, leaving only Nakir. The dark angel grinned at Raziel, as if in camaraderie. 
>> 
>> "So, we will be seeing you tomorrow, at sun's zenith then?" he said. 
>> 
>> "Perhaps." 
>> 
>> "Should you wish to join my band of hunters, you might want to meet us on the east side of the Aerie." 
>> 
>> "I will think about it." 
>> 
>> The dark angel spread his black wings, lazily. "Once we are through with you, you can help us hunt Turelim, if you like. Hunting on the wing is most enjoyable."   
  
"One can only imagine." 
>> 
>> Nakir eyed the sullen vampire lord. "Not much for words, are you? As you wish. You won't need them. We'll be seeing you." 
>> 
>> The dark angel took off, blending into the gathering dusk. Raziel scowled, and took to the air himself. He had no need of sleep, and the wooded areas below still held his curiosity. Night was falling swiftly, and he was feeling more like himself – a creature of the night, ruthless and deadly. Raziel's talons flexed convulsively. Perhaps there was good hunting below him, just for the thrill of the chase. He no longer needed fresh blood, but the cup he had drunk in the Archon's quarters tasted as good as it ever had. Raziel began to spiral lower, searching the forest for signs of movement on silent wings. 
>> 
>> Flying lessons, pah! He would do just as well without them. 
>> 
>> He dipped lower to skim the treetops, his night-adjusted eyes making the landscape clear as day. A steady breeze blew as the land cooled. It was most enjoyable, and Raziel closed his eyes for a moment in bliss. The air was alive with the scents of living things, warm-blooded. He stretched his wings a little farther. 
>> 
>> The wind under his wings grew rough, and Raziel began to bounce. Alarmed, he tried to correct, and dropped dangerously close to the treetops. He broke through a few branches and plowed through the foliage of a particularly tall tree before he gained enough altitude to clear the forest. Pride battered, Raziel looked for a clearing where he could start his hunt and forget his ignominious attempt at acrobatics. 
>> 
>> The trees gave way near a stream, and he landed, not without a slight stumble. As Raziel settled his wings, he heard a low laugh from above him. Nakir wheeled on the night breeze, serene. He called down, "Perhaps you should think harder about joining us tomorrow. Until then, reaver-of-souls!" 
>> 
>> _ Damn him!_ thought Raziel, furious. _He shadowed me all the way from the plain!_ His rage exploded for a moment, then faded to a seethe as he considered how completely unaware he had been of the general's presence. _Perhaps there is something to be learned here after all_, he thought. _Perhaps._
>> 
>> That was for tomorrow. For now, the night was young, and a vampire prowled the lands of the Host. The secrets in the woods beckoned.


End file.
